CHAPTER VIII
MIDNIGHT
"Well, how are you goin' to find Mr. Lovell among about five thousand people?" asked Jack Conroy. "Say somethin', Timmy."
"Let's hunt up the steamboat landing," suggested Tim. "Don't believe many people got off the boat, and everybody 'ud notice a stranger. If Uncle Stanley intended going to a hotel, maybe he asked directions, an' one of the natives still lazying on the string-piece heard him."
"How do you know one's lazying there?" asked Tom.
"There always is, son; it's a universal custom. Where's the steamboat landing, boy?"
An urchin, holding a fishing pole in one hand, and staring open-mouthed at the crowd, pointed along the wharves.
"'Tain't more'n ten minutes' walk," he answered. "Want me to help carry yer stuff? Sure ye do."
Hearing his words, four other boys dashed over, and the owner of the fishing pole was unceremoniously pushed aside.