As he drew near the exit he heard voices in angry conversation, and, peering around a post, he saw the two in conversation, and, peering around a post, he saw the two men standing not a dozen paces away. One was a tall, fine-looking man, handsomely clad. The other was a disreputable-appearing fellow, wearing a rough ulster and a slouch-hat, and Gerald also observed that there was not another person in sight.
“I have told you never to appeal to me again,” Gerald heard the gentleman remark, in sternly resolute tones, “and I shall give you no more money to spend upon drink and gambling.”
“Oh, come, now don’t be hard on a fellow,” pleaded his companion, as he moved a step or two nearer, while Gerald saw him slip his right hand into the pocket of his ulster. “You’re just rolling in wealth, and I am starving. Give me a ‘V.’”
“Not a dime, you rascal! You have played no end of tricks upon me, and I am done with you forever,” was the reply.
“But I’m hungry, I tell you. I haven’t had a decent meal for a week,” persisted the beggar; and now Gerald saw him cautiously withdraw his hand from his pocket with an object in it that made his heart leap into his throat.
“Heavens! It is a sand-bag!” he breathed.
“Well, if you are hungry, go to the nearest station-house, where you will get a night’s lodging, with a supper and breakfast, and to-morrow morning you can work to pay for it,” said the gentleman.
“Work!” snarled the tramp. “Do you think I am going to dig ice from the gutters? Not if I know myself!”
“Very well, then, you may go hungry,” replied his companion, as he turned to proceed on his way.
With an angry oath the tramp raised his arm aloft, and, in a moment more, would have accomplished his deadly work had not Gerald, quick as a flash, sprung from his place of concealment, dashed upon the would-be murderer, and, wrenched the weapon from his grasp.