Tom's anxiety for his comrade drove all thought of sleep from his eyes forthe time; and he sat long in the hot, smoky air of the room down-stairs,in the hope that Jim would come.
It seemed to the watcher that there was an unusually large number ofvisitors in the house that evening. There was a great deal of drinking andcarousing going on, and many of the men gathered there, he was sure,belonged to the lowest grades of society.
A half-dozen foreign nations were represented, and one had but to listento the talk for a short while to learn that among them were many whom onemight well fear to meet on a lonely road at night.
Tom might have felt some dread but for the fact that, rather strangely,these men showed little disposition to engage in any brawl, and no oneseemed to notice him.
Late in the evening a couple of policemen came in and waited a whilearound the stove. They only spoke to the bartender, who treated them withthe greatest consideration; but they scrutinized the lad with a curiouslook, which caused him to wonder whether they held any suspicion ofwrong-doing on his part. They said nothing to him, however, and shortlyafter went out.
Tom's great alarm for Jim drove nearly every other thought from his mind.Late as it was, he would have started out to search for him, could he haveformed the least idea of the course to take; but, besides being a strangerin the city, he knew that a single man or a hundred might spend weeks inhunting for one in the metropolis, without the least probability offinding him.
It was near midnight when he concluded to make his way to the room, hopingthat Jim would show up before morning.
The sounds of revelry below, mingled with shouts and the stamping of feet,together with the feverish condition of the lad, kept him awake anotherhour; but at last he fell into a light, uneasy sleep, haunted by all sortsof grotesque, awful visions.
Suddenly he awoke; in the dim light of his little room Tom saw the figureof a man standing by the bed.
"Who are you? What do you want?" whispered the terrified lad, strugglingto rise to a sitting position.
"Mebbe ye doesn't know me, but I'm Patsey McConough, and it was mesilfthat saw ye shtrike out so boldly last night and save the gal that hadfallen overboard, and St. Patrick himself couldn't have done it any betterthan did yersilf."
"What do you mean by coming into my room this way?" asked Tom, whose feargreatly subsided under the words of the Irishman.
"I come up-stairs to wake ye, for I'm afeard ye are going to have troubleonless ye look mighty sharp."
"What do you mean?"
Patsey carefully closed and bolted the door behind him, and sat down onthe edge of the bed, speaking in a low, guarded voice.
"There's a big crowd down-stairs, and Tim's grog is getting to theirheads, and they're riddy for any sort of a job. There are a couple ofItalian cut-throats, and though I can't understand much of their lingo,yet I cotched enough of the same to make me sartin they mean to rob ye."
"But would they dare try it in the house here?"
"Whisht now, there isn't anything they wouldn't thry, if they thoughtthere was a chance of making a ha'pence at it. They've murdered men aforeto-night, and they would just as lief slip up here and cut your wizen asthey would ate a piece of macaroni. Whisht now, and I'll give ye thepartic'lars and inshtruct ye what to do. It wouldn't be safe for ye to gitup and go out, for they'll folly ye and garrote ye afore ye could raich asafe place. I would stay here and watch with ye, but that I've overstayedme time alriddy, and I'll catch thunder whin I git back home, 'cause Ican't make the boss belave the raison why I staid. Here's a pistol,"added the Irishman, shoving a five-shooter into the hand of theastonished lad, "and ivery barrel is loaded, and it niver misses fire, asthe victims can tell ye as have been hit by the same. Do ye take this,bolt yer door, and if anybody comes poking in the room after I'm gone,just bore a hole through him, and then ax him if he ain't ashamed ofhimself to steal into a private apartment in that shtyle. Take me word forit, he won't come agin."
"I should think not," said Tom, who was dressing himself. "But I don'tlike the idea of shooting a man."
"Nor do I, but it's loikely to be a chice between shooting him or himshooting ye, and ye are at liberty to decide."
And with a few parting words of caution the Irishman took his departure,first pausing long enough to advise Tom to change his quarters if he wasspared until the morrow, and suggesting that the wisest thing he could dowas to get out of New York as speedily as he knew how.
As may well be imagined, Tom Gordon was not likely to fall asleep againthat night, so, having fully dressed himself, he sat down on the edge ofthe bed to wait and watch.
A small transom over his door admitted enough light to discern objectswith sufficient distinctness in the room, and he carefully shoved the boltin place, feeling he was prepared for any emergency.
Even with such an exciting subject to occupy his thoughts, he could notfail to wonder and fear for his missing friend. He prayed Heaven to watchover the boy's footsteps and to prevent his wandering into any danger,while the feeling that the poor fellow was already beyond all human helpweighed down the heart of Tom like a mountain of lead.
This suspense did not continue long when the watchful lad heard some oneascending the stairs--an action which might mean nothing or a great deal.
The room occupied by the boy was along a narrow hall, perhaps fifty feetin length, the apartment being half that distance from the head of thestairs.
It seemed to Tom that there was an attempt to smother the sound made bythe feet, which plainly belonged to two people, though the effort was farfrom being a success.
"They may be going to their own room, after all"--
The heart of the lad gave a great bound, for at that instant the footstepspaused directly in front of his own door, and he could hear the menmuttering to each other in low tones.
"They're looking for me," was the conclusion of the boy, who grasped hispistol more rigidly, and rose to the standing posture.
"If they want me, all they've got to do is to take me."
What was the amazement of the youth to see at this moment, while his eyeswere fixed upon the door, the iron bolt slowly move back, without, so faras he could see, the least human agency.
This was a house, indeed, in which such characters were given everyfacility they could wish to ply their unholy vocation.
Immediately after the fastening went back, the latch was lifted, and thedoor swung noiselessly inward.
As it did so, a head, covered only with a mass of shock hair, which hungdown like pieces of tarred rope, and with the lower part of the faceveiled by a black, stringy beard, was thrust far enough within to show theshoulders. Directly behind appeared another face, placed on a shorterbody, but none the less repellant in expression, and the two were forcingtheir way into the room, when they paused.
They seemed to conclude that it would be best to consider the matterfurther before rushing in there.
Instead of seeing a boy sound asleep in bed, waiting for them to rob himof all his earthly possessions, they found themselves confronted by awide-awake lad, with his revolver pointed straight at their villainousheads.
"Why don't you come in?" asked Tom, never lowering his weapon.
"Put him down!" said the foremost of the villains, in broken English,hoping to frighten the lad.
"I don't feel like doing it just now," was the reply, while the armremained as fixed as a bar of iron.
Tom did not intend to shoot unless they advanced upon him; but, not beingaccustomed to the weapon, he was unaware that a very slight pressure wasenough to discharge it. Unconsciously he exerted that slight pressure,and, while the miscreants were glaring in the door, the pistol was fired.
What was more, the bullet struck one of the Italians, who, with a howl ofpain, wheeled about and hurried down-stairs, followed by histerror-stricken companion.
Tom was half-frightened out of his wits, and made up his mind that thebest thing he could do was to get out of the place without any furtherdelay.
The only way to escape was to go down the stairs, the same as hisassailants had done.
It was not a pleasant duty; but, remembering what the Irishman had toldhim, and filled with an uncontrollable aversion against staying anylonger, he hurried out, pausing only long enough to catch up his smallbundle of clothing.
In the smoky, hot room down-stairs, the scene was nearly the same as whenhe left it a couple of hours before to go to bed. The two Italians wereinvisible, and the little affray up-stairs seemed to have attracted noattention at all. The bartender was too much occupied to notice the lad,who made his way outside into the clear, frosty air, where he inhaled afew deep draughts to give him new life and courage.
He knew not which way to turn, but he was confident he could find somesafe lodging-place without going far, and he moved along the street, wherethere were plenty of pedestrians abroad, even though the hour was so late.
He was quite near the river, and determined not to be caught in such atrap again. He walked slowly, scrutinizing as well as he could theexterior of each building in sight, where the wayfarer and traveler wasinvited to step within and secure food and lodging.
In this manner he passed several houses, and was on the point of turninginto one which seemed to have an inviting look, when his attention wasarrested by a lad who was running toward him from the rear.
He was panting and laboring along as though about exhausted.
As he reached the wondering Tom, who stopped and turned aside to let himpass, the stranger paused and said,--
"Say, sonny, just hold that watch, will you, till I come back?"
And before the boy fairly understood the question, the other shoved a goldwatch and chain into his hands, then darted into an alleyway anddisappeared.
He had scarcely done so when two swift footed policemen came dashingalong, as if in pursuit.
"Here he is!" exclaimed one, catching hold of Tom's arm, and dealing him astunning blow on the head with his locust.
"That's the little imp," added the other, the two guardians of the lawpouncing upon the lad as if he were a Hercules, who meant to turn upon andrend them.
"I haven't done anything," remonstrated Tom, feeling that some fearfulmistake had been made.
"Shut up, you little thief!" yelled the policeman, whacking him on thehead again with his club. "Ah, here is the watch on him! We've beenlooking for you, my boy, for a month, and we've got you at last."
Chapter XI.