“None at all,” Angelo replied soberly. “But after all, the battle of Maxwell Street is not our battle. This is a large city. Yet it is strange the way we meet the same people again and again. If that man really comes upon me in some other place, if he finds out what I do and where I live, he will do his best to ruin me. That is the way of his kind.”
Little did Angelo guess the manner in which his prophecy was to come true, much less the manner of vengeance that would be employed.
Petite Jeanne remained silent for a moment. Then she gave Angelo’s arm an affectionate squeeze as she answered: “I shall pray every night that he may never see you even once again.”
CHAPTER XVII
TRAVELING MYSTERIES
Even to Merry, who had never before visited her friends on Peoria Street just off Maxwell Street, the shop of Weston was something of a shock. It was nothing more than a hollow shell of a building with a great heap of second-hand goods of all sorts piled in one corner. Not a shelf, counter or table adorned this bleak interior. The plaster was cracked, the walls threatening to fall.
“I sell all in the street,” he explained in answer to their looks of astonishment. With a wave of his hand he indicated rough board counters where a miscellaneous assortment of human beings were pawing over a stock in trade as varied as themselves.
Now and again one would hold up an article in one hand, a coin in the other, and a bargain was speedily made.
“I don’t see how he lives,” Petite Jeanne whispered.
“He’s been doing this for twenty years, and he’s not bankrupt yet,” Merry whispered back.
They were led next to the shop of Kay King. This boasted of some little magnificence. There were shelves and tables and one glass showcase. Since his principal stock was composed of second-hand books, the wall was lined with them.