Part 10 (2/2)

”I'm here on time,” replied Felix; ”just half past five. Come, let's have a gla.s.s of beer.”

Peter Smartweed was the name of this young fellow, as Bob afterwards found out.

When Felix and his friend pa.s.sed into the drinking saloon, Bob followed them as far as the door; then he turned back, and sought the disguise of a bootblack.

A young knight of the brush stood near by, with his blacking box slung over his shoulder. Bob arranged with him for the use of it for a few moments, promising to pay over to him all the proceeds he made thereby.

He also exchanged his own hat for the cap the boy had on, and, with this head gear pulled down over the left side of his face, the appearance of Bob Hunter was much changed. His accustomed step, quick, firm, and expressive, was changed to that of the nerveless, aimless boy--a sort of shuffle.

Thus disguised, he approached Felix Mortimer and his companion, who were sitting at a table with a partially filled schooner of beer before each of them.

”s.h.i.+ne? s.h.i.+ne, boss?” said Bob, in a strange voice.

No response was made by the convivial youths.

”Two for five!” continued Bob, persistently. ”Two reg'lar patent leathers for only five cents!”

Peter looked at his boots. They were muddy. Then he argued with himself that Felix had paid for the beer, so it seemed to him that he could not even up the score in any less expensive way than by paying for the s.h.i.+nes.

”Do you mean you will give us both a s.h.i.+ne for five cents?” said Peter.

”Yes,” drawled Bob, lazily.

”Well, see that they are good ones, now, or I'll not pay you a cent.”

Bob commenced work on the shoes very leisurely. He seemed the embodiment of stupidity, and blundered along in every way possible to prolong the time.

”How would you like to climb down, Mort, and s.h.i.+ne shoes for a living?”

said Peter Smartweed, jokingly.

”Perhaps I wouldn't mind it if I was stupid as the kid fumbling around your shoes seems to be,” replied Felix, in a more serious mood than his companion.

[Ill.u.s.tration: BOB HUNTER PLAYS THE DETECTIVE.]

”Well, I think you looked even more stupid than this young Arab last night, when you lay upon the floor.”

”Well, I guess you would have felt stupid, too, if you had got such a clip as I did,” retorted Felix, as he nursed his swollen jaw with his hand.

”It was a stunning blow, for a fact. John L. Sullivan couldn't have done it neater. I didn't think, Mort, that that young countryman could hit such a clip, did you?”

”No, I didn't; and I'm mighty sure you don't realize now what a stinging blow he hit me. You talk about it as if it didn't amount to much. Well, all I've got to say is, I don't want to see you mauled so, but I wish you knew how good it felt to be floored the way I was.”

”No, thank you,” said Peter; ”I don't want any of it. But you looked so comical, as you fell sprawling, that I couldn't help laughing. I believe I would have laughed if you had been killed.”

Bob Hunter's ears were now wide open.

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