"Show me the way," said Shock. "Quick!"
"Come, then," said the little Scotchman, leading once more into the darkness.
Some distance down the street stood Smiley—or as some preferred to call him Slimy—Simmons' general store. At the back of the store there was a side door.
"They're in yonder," said the little Scotchman, and disappeared.
Shock knocked at the door, but there was no response. He turned the handle, opened the door, and walking in found himself in the back of the store, in a room dimly lighted by a hanging lantern. Seated on a stool at a high desk, evidently busy with his ledger, sat a man, tall, slender, and wiry. He had a sharp, thin face, with high forehead, protruding nose, and receding chin. The moment he spoke Shock discovered at once how it was he came by his nickname.
His smile was the most striking characteristic of his manner. Indeed, so permanent and pervasive did his smile appear, that it seemed almost to be a fixed feature of his face.
He came forward to Shock, rubbing his hands.
"Ah, good evening," he said, in a most insinuating voice. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Yes," said Shock, instinctively shrinking from him. "I want to see Mr. Stanton."
"Mr. Stanton—Mr. Stanton? Let me see. I saw Mr. Stanton some hours ago. Let me think. Was it at the International? Yes, I think it was the International. No, in the Royal. I have no doubt you will find him there. I shall be pleased to show you, for I see you are a stranger. We are always delighted to see strangers and we try to make them welcome to our town."