“Wants to keep track of me,” was his mental comment. “Needs me for a witness.”
“See you there at 6:00 P.M. Here’s your purse. We’ll need it as evidence later. You can swear to its contents. Don’t let anyone get it while Howe and I are not around. May not get it back.”
“Right!” said Johnny. “See you at six.”
CHAPTER III
TALKING IN THE DARK
Johnny spent the remainder of the day sight-seeing. Old friends awaited him, the Museum, the Art Institute, the State Street stores. The work along the Outer Drive amazed and delighted him.
“Great city!” he mused. “Do anything. No spare land for parks. Make some. Why not? Goes and gets things, this old city does. No islands. Dig some from the bottom of the lake. Great, I’d say!”
Then his brow clouded. He recalled stories he had heard repeated. Even in the far-away Canadian woods men had spoken of rampant crime, gang killings, wholesale gambling and robbery in his beloved city.
But at once his face brightened. “A few hundred fellows like this Drew Lane would fix that all up. Young, ambitious, fearless college fellow, I’ll bet. Looks like a dude, but got real stuff in him. Why not a thousand like him, fresh from college, full of ideals, ready for fight? Like the men that went to France. Why not? A thousand strong! The Legion of Youth. Man! Oh man!”
So, sight-seeing, reminiscing, dreaming, he wandered through the day to find himself, toward eventide, wandering back to the low shack that lay at the foot of many great piles of brick, and wondered more and more that such a fellow as Drew Lane should choose so humble, not to say disreputable appearing, habitation.
“Lot of things go by opposites,” he told himself. “Besides, there’s that girl. Italian. But a beauty for all that.”