Part 20 (1/2)
”I've been here two hours. What does your friend look like?”
”That's his picture,” said Frank, displaying the photograph.
”Oh, yes,” said his new acquaintance, ”he is here now. His name is Fred, isn't it?”
”Yes,” answered Frank, eagerly; ”I don't see him. Where is he?”
”He's playing cards upstairs, but I don't believe he can tell one card from the other.”
”Been drinking, I suppose,” said Frank, betraying no surprise.
”I should say so. Do you know the fellows he's with?”
”I am not sure about that. How long has Fred been upstairs?”
”About an hour. He was playing billiards till he couldn't stand straight, and then they went upstairs.”
”Would you mind telling him that there is a friend downstairs who wishes to see him, that is, if you know the way?”
”Oh, yes, I live here. Won't you come up with me?”
”Perhaps I had better,” said Frank, and followed his companion through a door in the rear, and up a dark and narrow staircase to the street floor.
”It'll be a hard job to get him away,” thought Frank; ”but, for his mother's sake, I will do my best.”
CHAPTER XIII.
A TIMELY RESCUE.
As Frank entered the room he hastily took in the scene before him. Round a table sat three young men, of not far from twenty, the fourth side being occupied by Fred Vivian. They were playing cards, and sipping drinks as they played. Fred Vivian's handsome face was flushed, and he was nervously excited. His hands trembled as he lifted the gla.s.s, and his wandering, uncertain glances showed that he was not himself.
”It's your play, Fred,” said his partner.
Fred picked up a card without looking at it, and threw it down on the table.
”That settles it,” said another. ”Fred, old boy, you've lost the game.
You're another five dollars out.”
Fred fumbled in his pocket for a bill, and it was quickly taken from his hand before he could well see of what value it was. Frank, however, quickly as it was put away, saw that it was a ten. It was clear that Fred was being cheated in the most barefaced manner.
Frank's entrance was evidently unwelcome to most of the company.
”What are you bringing in that boy for, John?” demanded a low-browed fellow, with a face like a bull-dog.
”He is a friend of Fred,” answered John.
”He's a telegraph boy. He comes here a spy. Fred don't know him. Clear out, boy!”