Ben was about to leave the friendly shade that had hidden him, when a small, lithe figure sprang from the shed through an aperture made by a loosened board. This new party on the scene gazed earnestly after the two retreating men; shook his clenched hand at them and muttered, "I'll have you yet! I'll have you yet!" Then turned and ran swiftly away in an opposite direction. Ben was so astonished that before he could call out, the flying form was lost in the dusk of the night.
It was Tommy.
As he slowly wended his steps down Duquesne Way to the great tramp resort he cogitated upon the evening's developments. And the result of his reflections was that there was a mystery connecting the owner of the glorious, grey eyes with Arthur Blackoat, who in turn was likewise connected with the thick man, Nipper, (who was evidently the latter's Jonah) and Blackoat in his turn was somehow connected with his little friend Tommy. But this was as far as he got. What the mystery was he could not surmise, and as he was not a very imaginative young fellow, he contented himself with the reflection that "Time tells all things," and hoped Time would not neglect its business in this instance.
"Well," said Ben, as he looked up at a somewhat pretentious three story brick building, fronting on the Alleghany river, "they have provided a pretty respectable-looking hotel for us people of the foot-path, any way."
A short flight of stone steps led up to a broad hall way, that entered a spacious, well-lighted office. Well dressed men were lounging about, and passing in and out, the same as at any other hotel.
"Indeed," thought our hero, "this is a new departure in tramping. How well they dress and how comfortable they appear to be." To make no mistake he stepped up to a group of three men lounging over an iron railing. Their tatterdemalion attire, and general air of conglomerate dirt and rags, denoted them to be the bona fide article.
"Recent arrivals, probably, who have not yet had time to recuperate under the beneficent influences of the 'home,'" thought he.
"Is this the Young Men's Home, the place where they take in strangers?" he asked.
Yes. There was where they took in strangers. He had struck the right spot. He was to go right in and register at the office.
Ben entered without noticing that the three tatterdemalions ranged themselves on the sidewalk where they could get a good view of the interior, each having a face illumined by a broad grin of expectancy.