The Neer-Do-Well | Page 6

ball-room a medium-sized man who had recently entered from
the street caught a glimpse of them, craned his neck for a better view,
then idled along behind.

II
THE TRAIL DIVIDES
Inspired by his recent rivalry with Mr. Jefferson Locke, Anthony
played the part of host more lavishly than even the present occasion
required. He ordered elaborately, and it was not long before corks were
popping and dishes rattling quite as if the young men were really
hungry. Mr. Locke, however, insisted that his friends should partake of
a kind of drink previously unheard of, and with this in view had a
confidential chat with the waiter, to whom he unostentatiously handed
a five-dollar retainer. No one witnessed this unusual generosity except
Higgins, who commended it fondly; but his remarks went unheeded in
the general clamor.
The meal was at its noisiest when the man whom Locke had so
generously tipped spoke to him quietly. Whatever his words, they
affected the listener strongly. Locke's face whitened, then grew muddy
and yellow, his hands trembled, his lips went dry. He half arose from
his chair, then cast a swift look about the room. His companions were
too well occupied, however, to notice this by-play even when the waiter
continued, in a low tone:
"He slipped me a ten-spot, so I thought it must be something worth
while."
"He--he's alone, you say?"
"Seems to be. What shall I do, sir?"
Locke took something from his pocket and thrust it into the fellow's

hand, while the look in his eyes changed to one of desperation.
"Step outside and wait. Don't let him come up. I'll call you in a
minute."
Ringold was recounting his version of the first touchdown--how he had
been forced inch by inch across the goal line to the tune of thirty
thousand yelling throats and his companions were hanging upon his
words, when their new friend interrupted in such a tone that Anthony
inquired in surprise:
"What's wrong, old man? Are you sick?"
Locke shook his head. "I told you fellows I'd been followed this
evening. Remember? Well, there's a man down-stairs who has given
the waiter ten dollars to let him have his coat and apron so he can come
in here."
"What for?"
"Who is he?"
The men stared at the speaker with a sudden new interest.
"I'm not sure. I--think it's part of a plan to rob me." He let his gaze
roam from one face to another. "You see--I just came into a big piece
of coin, and I've got it with me. I'm--I'm alone in New York,
understand? They've followed me from St. Louis. Now, I want you
boys to help me dodge this--"
Kirk Anthony rose suddenly, moving as lightly upon his feet as a
dancer.
"You say he's below?"
Locke nodded. It was plain that he was quite unnerved.
Ringold rose in turn and lurched ponderously toward the door, but Kirk
stepped in front of him with a sharp word:
"Wait! I'll manage this."
"Lemme go," expostulated the centre-rush. "Locke's a good fellow and
this man wants to trim him."
"No, no! Sit down!" Ringold obeyed. "If he wants to join us, we'll have
him come up."
"What?" cried Locke, leaping nervously from his chair. "Don't do that.
I want to get out of here."
"Not a bit like it." Kirk's eyes were sparkling. "We'll give this fellow
the third degree and find out who his pals are."
"Grand idea!" Higgins seconded with enthusiasm. "Grand!"

"Hold on! I can't do that. I've got to sail at ten o'clock. I don't dare get
into trouble, don't you understand? It's important." Locke seemed in an
extraordinary panic.
"Oh, we'll see that you catch your boat all right," Kirk assured him; and
then before the other could interfere he rang for the waiter.
"Give that chap your coat and apron," he ordered, when the attendant
answered, "and when I ring next send him up. Pass the word to Padden
and the others not to notice any little disturbance. I'll answer for
results."
"I'm going to get out," cried the man from St. Louis. "He mustn't see
me."
"He'll see you sure if you leave now. You'll have to pass him. Stick
here. We'll have some fun."
The white-faced man sank back into his chair, while Anthony directed
sharply:
"Now, gentlemen, be seated. Here, Locke, your back to the door-- your
face looks like a chalk-mine. There! Now don't be so nervous-- we'll
cure this fellow's ambition as a gin-slinger. I'll change names with you
for a minute. Now, Ringold, go ahead with your story." Then, as the
giant took up his tale again: "Listen to him, fellows; look pleasant,
please. Remember you're not sitting up with a corpse. A little more
ginger, Ringie. Good!" He pushed