CHAPTER II.
THE YEGGMEN’S LEAGUE.
At the foot of one of the uptown streets, East River, is, or was, a tumble-down shed, once used as a wholesale oyster depot.
At high tide the water came up under the shed to within a few feet of the street.
Seated around the room, the night following that of the abduction of the old banker, were seven or eight men, while at a rude table in the middle of the shed were two others engaged in playing cards, and on the table between them were several black bottles.
They were a brutal set, the occupants of the place, and more than one of them had received free board and lodgings at Sing Sing.
“I say, you, Jack Frost, that game ought to be about finished,” said the man called Skip. “I’m thirsty, I am, and the bottles are empty.”
“You lose, Dick Denton,” said the fellow addressed as Jack Frost, arising from the table. “Who will go and get the bottles filled? Two quarts, Dick, you know.”
“I’ll go myself,” said the unfortunate gambler, picking up two of the bottles and leaving the shed.
“For Heaven’s sake, don’t be long! I am dying for a drink,” remarked the thirsty Skip.