That did not much surprise Roger. The man had no doubt gone back to the laboratory or had gone on elsewhere. In the first case they would have told him they had a charge account with his company; in the other, knowing it, he would have picked up other fares and forgotten the young man he had brought there.
Roger, rather closely confined indoors by his laboratory work of giving out hypo, sodium bisulphite, or, perhaps, electrical requisites, decided that the air would be beneficial. He walked.
It came to him after a few squares that Cousin Grover had thought of being watched. Roger glanced around hastily.
He wondered if that slouching fellow with the low-brimmed hat, could be following him. He whirled in his tracks, to retrace his way past the other, but the youth turned in at a cigar store, and Roger, with reassurance making him whistle gaily, walked on.
Almost at the laboratory street he looked back again—and was puzzled.
The youth was on the trail, possibly, once more. But he had not kept close; instead he was leaning against another smoking goods shop window-frame. Roger, thinking to himself that such espionage could do no harm, changed his course, and instead of going directly down to the laboratory street, he turned into the one behind the laboratory, so that if the youth had gone into the store to telephone his progress, he would prevent being met by anyone at the logical corner he had been heading for. He would approach from the far end of the block.
To his dismay, this seemed to have been anticipated. There were about a dozen boisterous, rowdyish young men and boys racing to and fro in a rough, noisy game of tag. They might be innocent of any interest in him and his tight-buttoned coat; but he was taking no chances. He turned, retracing his way. To his dismay, one, being chased by the pack, came with long legs down the street. Roger stopped at a drug store intending to go in and telephone for Tip; but a woman with a baby carriage obstructed the entranceway.
He changed his plan quickly. Dodging around her, he walked rapidly toward the candy factory adjoining the laboratory. The roughs were passing him. Suddenly they were all thronging around, pushing, not caring whether he got into the mixup of thrusting, hoarse-yelling gamesters or not. Roger felt a little bit dismayed.
One of the tougher and taller youths caught hold of his tightly buttoned coat.
“What you buttin’ in our game fer, huh?”