The two moved off in the direction of the house in question, and had reached the corner of Twenty-third Street and Lexington Avenue on their way, when a young man in a blue flannel shirt and a coil of wire about his shoulder, stopped Chick and asked:
“Ain’t you Chickering Carter?”
“Yes,” replied Chick, eying the young man keenly.
“Well, say,” said the young man, “it’s up to me to tell you something. Say, I’ve been chewing on it all day, and just as soon as I was cleaned up I was going to hunt up Nick Carter and give it away, if it did fling me out of a job.”
“Can you tell me?” asked Chick.
“That’s what I hollered whoa on you for. You’ll do just as well.”
“Step aside, then,” said Chick.
Chick led the way to a place near the corner, where they could talk unobserved, followed by both Patsy and the young man.
“Now, then, what is it?” asked Chick
“I’ve been dead wrong,” said the young man, “and I’m going to square it, even if you fling me over to the company. It’s this way. I’m lineman for the telephone company. See?