“I reckon he don’t know me arter all,” remarked Mr. Hockins, taking a fresh hold on his carpetbag as the man from the Tenderloin faded around the corner of the Post Office. “Still, he seemed to hev my name and whar I cum from right pat.”
“He didn’t know you at all. That fellow was a confidence man.” And as Silas Hockins followed across the street into Ann Street, the boy explained the old threadbare game to him.
“Waal, naow, yeou’re right smart, I reckon, to see through thet chap at once. I s’pose yeou drink, don’t yeou? A glass of cider would kinder hit me in the right place,” and Hockins paused in front of a saloon.
“I’ll wait for you, if you don’t linger too long,” answered Jack.
“Ain’t yeou comin’ in?”
The boy shook his head.
“Waal, I won’t be more’n a minit.”
Jack glanced over a cheap lot of books on a vendor’s cart drawn up alongside the narrow walk until Silas Hockins reappeared.
“This is Nassau Street,” said Jack, after they had walked a short block. “Where did you want to go?”
“Waal, I’ll tell yeou. I want tew get tew Wall Street, and Dominie Hudson, of our town, told me ef I found Nassau Street I could walk right into it.”