“Perry Junction.”
“Um, down where they can catch the fast trains. But there aren’t so many trains at this time of the morning. Maybe I can nab them yet.”
“What are you going to do, Bob?” asked Mr. Dawson, as the lad started from the station.
“I’m going to take the short cut to Perry Junction. I can beat the milk, for it’s got half a dozen stops between here and there to pick up cans. I want to see these fellows.”
“Better not take any chances with them, Bob,” advised Mr. Dawson. “They didn’t look like very nice customers, especially that man with the iron hook. If he made a dig at you with that—zowie, boy!” The agent drew in his breath sharply.
“Don’t worry—I’m not going to take any chances, Mr. Dawson. I’m going to stop and pick up an officer at headquarters.”
“I think that’s wise. I didn’t like the looks of these chaps from the time they came in. I was suspicious of them, and I thought I might be in for a hold-up, until I remembered that I didn’t have enough money on hand to make it worth while. But they were civil enough.”
“And you say the man with the smooth face bought the tickets?”
“Yes—two, for Ferry Junction.”
“Did he talk like an Italian?”