"I suppose the chances are better beyond New York. I shall, of course, go directly to New York, but from there I will go into New England. I have credentials from several well known white people, as well as letters from the secretary of the white Y.M.C.A. here, and at Effingham and Attalia, so I think that part is quite sufficiently looked after."
When Reverend Wilson Jacobs had dined, he felt like walking, and, drawing on a light overcoat and cap, he strolled out into the chill December night. The air was still, and the stars gleamed brightly, as he strolled down the street in the direction of the river. When he had gone three blocks, he decided to walk to the river, and look out upon its water for a spell. So, increasing his speed, he walked briskly in that direction.
To reach the river by the street he was following, it was necessary to pass through a district of the town that had not the best reputation. It was a part of the town, inhabited in former days by denizens of the underworld, and was interspersed with many halls and buildings that had been built for such purposes. Since liquor had been voted out of the state, and the city likewise, while the women had also been forced to scatter, due to the enforcement of the law relative to their profession, the neighborhood had been given over largely to bootlegging. Places operating under the guise of soft-drink shops, sold liquor as freely as the saloons had, when they operated in the same places a year ago. And, in this district, holdups and other cases of outlawry were a common occurrence.
He had arrived, and was passing leisurely through this part of the town, when, ahead of him, a figure crossed the street, and entered one of the dives. Something about the swing of the arms, made him recall that he had seen that person before. He thought it over, as he approached the place the other had entered. He had not reached it, when the other emerged, and made his way up the street ahead of him, only a few yards. He studied the character, and when he turned into another place a few doors up, he recalled where he had seen him. It was the man who had paused before his gate months before, and whom he had started to follow, but who had eluded him. He saw no reason for paying him further attention now, and passed on to the river.
He returned by the same street, and as he came abreast of an open door, he overheard voices and caught a glimpse of the man again. He halted, and leaned beside the door in the shade of the building a moment, out of sheer curiosity. The voices came to his ears plainly, as he stood there.
"I have reason to believe she has money," said one, whom he surmised was that of the man he had seen.
"If she has, you have spoiled your chances of getting hold of any of it."
"How do you figure that out?" said the other gruffly.
"Well, what you should have done was to have communicated with her while she was stopping up here with that preacher and his sister, and made her come across to keep you from putting them next. Now, 's I figure it out, you blows in on her with your recognition game, and frightens her out of her wits, and she flies the coup. And then, to make matters worse, you trail her across town to where she 'beats' it, and, instead of using a little diplomacy, you blow in on her and frighten her away from there. You played a deuce of a game, you did." The tone was impatient, and, from the way the other shifted, it was quite obvious that he was not playing a clever one either.
"Well, she was such a good looking little wench that, to be truthful, I lost my head over her," the other laughed a low, hard laugh, as he said this.