“Coffee and something hot in a bowl,” said Johnny. “You know the kind, red Mex. with plenty of pepper.”
“Make it the same,” said Pant.
“And waiter,” Johnny put out a hand, “something nice for her,” he nodded his head toward the girl. “Anything she’d like.”
“The gentlemen are kind,” said the girl in a foreign accent, “but I have no need. I will have none.”
Since their new-found friend did not accept of their hospitality and did not start a conversation, the two boys sat silently staring about them.
It was a strange and motley throng that was gathered there. Dark Italians and Greeks; a few Irish faces; some Americans; two Mexicans in broad sombreros; three mulatto girls at a table by themselves and a great number of men and women of uncertain nationality.
“There! There he is,” whispered Johnny, casting his eyes at the far corner. “And there, by all that’s good, is Knobs, the New York firebug! They’re at the same table. See! I can’t be mistaken. There’s the same hooked nose, the identical stoop to his shoulders.”
“Together!” exclaimed Pant. “That changes my conclusions a little.”
“Don’t appear to see them,” whispered Johnny. “What are we to do?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps a police raid. But not yet; I want to study them.”