The street car rumbled by. Once more Johnny marched beside his new-found friend. And march was exactly the word.
“Walks exactly as if he were going to war,” Johnny told himself. “What a queer chap! Dresses like a college dude. Trains like a prize-fighter. Walks like a soldier. Worth knowing, I’d say.”
When, however, they reached a dark opening between two six story buildings and the stranger said, “This is the place. We go down. Watch your step. Shaky old stairs,” Johnny experienced something very much akin to fear.
He knew enough about strange cities at midnight to be on his guard. This part of the city certainly was not the best. They were near the city’s water front. The river was two blocks away. Between them and the water lay endless rows of warehouse slips, great dilapidated sheds, boats half sunken and rotting; all this and more.
As he hesitated a truck rumbled down the deserted street. It turned to the right to enter a gap of darkness that was a door to the brick structure nearest at hand.
Cheered by the thought that there was someone about, he decided to risk it.
Moving cautiously, he followed his companion down a low flight of stairs, then passed down an uneven board walk that ran close to the walls of what appeared to be a dilapidated one story structure.
Once more a stair confronted them. This time they mounted upward.
Once at the top the stranger threw open a door and touched a switch to throw on a flood of light. Johnny entered. The door was closed and locked after him.
The room his eyes took in at a glance was in strange contrast to its rude exterior. Softly tinted wall paper, shelves filled with books. Good pictures, tasty furniture. A man’s place; but neat, with the neatness that comes only at the touch of a woman’s hand.