“Jacob, what number did he ask about?” said the proprietor, turning to his clerk.
The boy gave it, at which the other whistled.
“That’s what they call a bull on me. I was five numbers out of the way. But let it pass. He didn’t want to buy nothing.”
The blunder was destined to give Darrell trouble however.
CHAPTER V
THE MAN DRESSED AS A BULL FIGHTER
When Eric Darrell left the little grocery on the corner, it was with a bad feeling at his heart.
It seemed as though a cold, clammy hand had suddenly come in contact with that member of his anatomy, and chilled it.
Could this thing be?
If Joe Leslie turned out to be that moral leper, a bigamist, Darrell believed he would never put any trust in human nature again.
Did it not look like it?