“If some of them would only come along!” whispered Joe, but none did.
He kept on following the two until he saw them go into one of the less disreputable lodging houses in a poor quarter of the city. It was a house where, though some respectable workingmen, temporarily embarrassed, made their homes for a time, there was more often a rowdy element, consisting of tramps, and, in some cases, criminals.
At election time it harbored “floaters” and “repeaters,” and had been the scene of many a police raid.
“I wonder what he can want by going in there?” thought Joe. “It’s a good thing Gregory can’t see him, or he’d sure say my experiment was a failure. It may be, after all; but I’m not going to give up yet. Now, shall I go in, and pretend I happened by casually, or shall I wait outside?”
Joe debated the two propositions within himself. The first he soon gave up. He was not in the habit of going into such places, and the presence of a well-dressed youth, more or less known to the public as a member of the Pittston nine, would excite comment, if nothing else. Besides, it might arouse suspicion of one sort or another. Then, too, Pop might guess why Joe had followed him, and resent it.
“I’ll just have to wait outside,” decided Joe, “and see what I can do when Pop comes out.”
It was a dreary wait. From time to time Joe saw men slouch into the place, and occasionally others shuffled out; but Pop did not come, nor did his ragged companion appear.
Joe was getting tired, when his attention was attracted to a detective whom he knew, sauntering rather aimlessly past on the opposite side of the street.
“Hello!” thought the young ball player, “I wonder what’s up?” He eyed the officer closely, and was surprised, a moment later, to see him joined by a companion.
“Something sure is in the wind,” decided Joe. “I’m going to find out.”