Bob Hunter was in, as on the previous night, and very glad he seemed at his friend's good success in getting so desirable a position. He listened to Herbert's story of the contest with much interest, and then added thoughtfully:

"It might be a good idea to look out for that feller that seemed to get down on you so. He probably knows you are a stranger in the city, and----"

"Do you think there is any danger?" interrupted Herbert.

"No, I can't say as there is; but he might think, if he could get you out of the way, he would get the place with the banker. You said he was disappointed."

"Yes, he showed his disappointment very much."

"Well, nothing may come of it. You keep your eye on me, and I'll steer you through all right, I reckon."

Herbert was upon the point of telling Bob his suspicions about the two fellows that seemed to be shadowing him, and then it occurred to him that he might magnify the matter, and work himself into a state of uneasiness when it would be better to give it no thought whatever.

Therefore he said nothing to the newsboy about them.

When they had finished dinner a little later, Bob asked him if he could manage to pa.s.s away an hour or so alone.

"Certainly, if you have an engagement," replied Herbert.

"I go to an evening school; but if you'll be lonesome alone, why, I'll stay with you till you learn a thing or two about the city."

"Oh, I shall be all right," said our hero, confidently. "Don't think of remaining away from school on my account. I can enjoy looking at the sights here in the Bowery for a while; then I will go to the room, and read till you come."

"All right. I'll do as you say; but now you look out, Vermont, and don't get lost."

Bob seemed to have a fondness for calling his friend by this name, and the latter indulged him in the peculiarity without objection.

After a while, young Randolph drifted up to one of the Bowery dime museums, and stood there for some time reading the announcements, looking at the pictures, and watching the crowd that ebbed and flowed up and down that thoroughfare.

Presently a young fellow of about his own age, who had for some time been standing near him, made a casual remark about a comical looking person who had just pa.s.sed by. Our hero looked up, and seeing that the remark had been addressed to him, he replied promptly. A conversation between him and the stranger followed. Herein Herbert showed the trustfulness characteristic of a country boy. He knew he was honest himself, and did not once suspect that the agreeable young man was playing the confidence game upon him.

CHAPTER VII.

BOB HUNTER THOROUGHLY AROUSED.

When Bob Hunter returned from the evening school to his room, he expected to find young Randolph there.

"He promised to be here," said Bob to himself; "I hope nothing has happened to him."

The newsboy's manner showed some alarm. He felt anxious about his friend.

"Something has gone wrong, I believe, or he would surely come,"

continued Bob, after waiting for a full half hour; "but I can't imagine what has steered him on to the wrong track."

Another half hour went by, and Herbert did not put in an appearance.

"I might's well stay here, I s'pose, as to go 'n' prowl round this town huntin' for Vermont," said Bob, thoughtfully. "But I guess I'll see if I can strike his trail. Any way I'll feel better, 'cause I'll know I've done something. It's no use to let a feller like him be run into these dens, if the game can be stopped."

An hour's fruitless hunt, in and about the Bowery, failed to reveal Herbert's whereabouts to the anxious searcher. He was unable to find any one who remembered to have seen him.

After giving up all hope of learning what he wished to find out, Bob hurried back to his room, with a feeling of anxiety quite new to him. He had taken a great liking to our hero, and now felt thoroughly alarmed, fearing that foul play had been brought to bear upon him.

The next morning he was up bright and early, looking sharply after his paper business, but he was not the Bob Hunter of the past. From the drollest and funniest boy in the trade he had suddenly become the most serious and thoughtful.

"What's. .h.i.t you this mornin', Bob?" said Tom Flannery, a companion newsboy.

"Why do you ask that?" returned Bob.

"Why, you look like you'd had a fit o' sickness."

"You're 'bout right, for I don't feel much like myself, no how. I didn't get no sleep hardly at all, and I've worried myself thin--just see here," and he pulled the waistband of his trousers out till there was nearly enough unoccupied s.p.a.ce in the body of them to put in another boy of his size.

He couldn't resist the opportunity for a joke, this comical lad, not even now. The trousers had been given to him by one of his customers, a man of good size. Bob had simply shortened up the legs, so naturally there was quite a quant.i.ty of superfluous cloth about his slim body.

"Gewhittaker!" exclaimed Tom, "I should think you have fell off! But say, Bob, what's gone bad? What's done it?" continued Tom, disposed to be serious.

"Well, you know the boy I told you about, what's chummin' with me?"

"Yes, the one I saw you with last night, I s'pose?"

"Yes, the same one. Well, he is lost."

"Lost!" repeated Tom, incredulously.

[Ill.u.s.tration: BOB HUNTER, ALONE IN HIS ROOM, WONDERS WHAT HAS BECOME OF HIS NEW FRIEND.]

"Yes;" and Bob acquainted him with the facts of Herbert's disappearance.

"Now, what do you think of it?" he asked.

"Looks bad," said young Flannery, gravely.

"So it does to me."

"Foul play," suggested Tom.

"That's what I think."

"Perhaps he has got tired of New York and has lit out."

"No, not much. Vermont ain't no such boy."

"Well, you know him best. Did he have any grip or anything?"

"Yes, he had a good suit and lots of other truck."