AN UNEXPECTED MEETING.
He found Captain Dennis installed in a pleasant, though small, flat in
that section of New York known as Greenwich Village. It is a queer old
quarter, full of once fashionable houses with dormer windows and white
doorsteps, and some of them with shutters. Captain Dennis had been
unable to find another ship, and was working for a ship chandler. But he
bore up bravely under his misfortunes, and as for his daughter Jack
thought that she was the most charming, enslaving bit of budding
womanhood he had ever seen.
Under the circumstances it is not surprising that the young wireless man
did not need to be pressed to stay to supper. How the time flew! Captain
Dennis dozed and only took part at times in the lively chatter of young
Ready and his “little gal,” but Jack did not find anything to object to
about this, you may be sure.
When at last he left with the promise to come soon again and his head
full of plans for a “regular party” on the old _Venus_, he found a raw,
foggy night outside, and at that late hour the streets of the
old-fashioned quarter almost deserted.
Now the streets of Greenwich Village twist and turn, as somebody has
said, “like a giant pretzel.” Tenth Street crosses Eleventh Street, and
Eighth Street runs through both of them in this topsy-turvy old quarter.
Jack’s course lay for the elevated station at Eighth Street, but, what
with the fog and his unfamiliarity with the section, he found himself
utterly lost after a short time, wandering about with no idea where he
was.
But to his nostrils came a whiff of the sea, and he suddenly bethought
himself of the fact that, although there were no late passers-by or
policemen to be seen in “the village,” he might be able to find somebody
on the waterfront who would direct him.
“I’m a fine sailor to lose my bearings like this,” he scolded himself as
he bent his steps in that direction.
If the village had been deserted, there was plenty of life—and life of a
very doubtful sort—on the waterfront. Saloons blazed with light, and
from within came discordant sounds of disorderly choruses and songs.
These places were the haunt of ’longshoremen, stevedores and the lower
class of sailors from the big liners, whose docks ranged northward in a
majestic line.
Jack had no desire to go into one of these resorts, but he looked about
in vain for some more respectable place in which to inquire. As is not
uncommon in New York, not a policeman was in sight, and the few
passers-by were too ruffianly-looking to make the boy feel inclined to
accost them.
At last he found himself opposite a small eating place—the Welcome
Home—that appeared to be fairly respectable. A full-rigged ship painted
in red and blue on its front window and the legends displayed in the
same place told him it was an eating house for sailors.
And so he decided to go in. In the front of the place was a glass
showcase filled with cheap cigars. Behind it were gaudily colored
posters of steamship lines.
There was no one behind the counter, and Jack started toward the rear,
where three men sat at a table talking rather boisterously.
One of them, a big, hulking fellow with the build of a bull, brought his
fist down on the table with a crash that made the plates and glasses
jump, just as Jack came in.
“The kid’s on the _Ajax_,” the lad heard him say in a rough voice, “and
if ever I catch him, I——”
He stopped short as he heard Jack’s footfall behind him. The next
instant he turned a bloated, brutal countenance, suffused with blood,
upon the boy.
Up to that instant, Jack had not connected himself with the subject of
conversation. But he did now. With a quick heart-leap he had recognized
the hulking brute at the table as one of the cronies of Anderson the
fireman.
The recognition was mutual. With a roar like that of a stricken bull the
man leaped to his feet.
“Mates!” he bellowed, “it’s the kid himself! After him! Keep the door
there, someone!”
A bottle came whizzing through the air at Jack’s head. He dodged it and
it burst in a crimson spatter of ketchup against the wall, spattering
the boy with its contents.
Like an arrow he darted out of the door. The proprietor, who was just
coming into the place from an errand next door, spread his arms to stop
him. Down went Jack’s head, and like a battering ram he butted the fat
landlord, gasping, out of his path.
After him came a shower of plates, glasses and bottles and loud, excited
shouts.
Jack ran as he had never run in his life before. Behind him came the
heavy beat of the firemen’s feet. How much mercy he could expect from
them if they laid hands on him, he knew.
Nobody was in sight. Jack’s safety lay in his own heels, a fact he
recognized with a quick gasp of dismay.
------------------------------------------------------------------------