It was not difficult to find an out-of-the-way corner, and Bar quickly satisfied himself that his prize contained little more than a few coarse counterfeits, a lot of fanciful advertising cards, in the shape of bank-notes, and enough wrapping-paper to fill out the pile and make it look “rich.” The book itself was of the best Russia leather, however, and well calculated to catch the eye of such a “greenhorn” as he had been mistaken for.
On, now slowly, now hurried by the afternoon up-town tide of foot-passengers, strolled Barnaby, until, right in front of one of the busiest retail commercial establishments, he saw a sudden flurry in the crowd, and a rapid coming together as if one spot on the sidewalk had acquired an overpowering attraction.
“Another game?” asked Bar of himself, but he pushed his way vigorously through the throng, nevertheless, as determined as anybody to learn the meaning of it all.
It was by no means the easiest thing in the world, for there was really a good deal of excitement.
“Awful fit!” exclaimed one.
“Fell right flat and began to kick without a word.”
“Lucky for him that Dr. Manning happened on hand so quickly.”
“Best doctor in the city.”
A shower of remarks reached Bar’s ears from all sides, but he could not divest himself of a feeling which made him extremely watchful, and he almost instinctively kept one hand upon his very worthless prize, as if it contained a fortune.
He was “two or three deep” back in the crowd from the central point where the sufferer was supposed to be lying, and around him were men of every sort, seeming pretty closely wedged in.