He and Crawford left the hotel and strolled along the crowded pavements. The grizzled miner seemed to find a keen delight in halting to examine almost every window they passed.
“Spending years in the open makes a man fairly hungry for this sort of thing. I’ve longed to be back home again just to look into these very shop windows.”
His enthusiasm was infectious, and he and Chick walked along, laughing and chatting together. They dropped in at the public library, and Crawford could hardly tear himself away.
When they reached the street again and started back toward Broadway, Chick happened to glance at a jeweler’s clock.
“Half past five!” he ejaculated. “By George! I had no idea it was as late as that.”
“Late be hanged!” Crawford answered, with a laugh. “The game is young yet. Let’s have a look in at one of those continuous performances I’ve heard so much about—that is, unless you have to get back.”
The detective had nothing pressing in view, and he was thoroughly enjoying Crawford’s comments on what they saw. He, therefore, expressed his willingness to do whatever his companion wished, and conducted the latter to a combination moving-picture and vaudeville house, where they spent a little over an hour.
It was after seven when they returned to the hotel.
“I’ll just go and see if Stone has come back,” Crawford said anxiously. “I won’t be long.”
Chick nodded assent and seated himself in one corner of the lobby, while the miner made for the elevator.