"Darbyville?" He thought a moment. "I never heard of such a town."

"It is only a small place several miles from New York. I came to Chicago on business. I arrived about half an hour ago."

"Really? Your introduction into our city has been rather an exciting one."

"I've had other adventures fully as exciting in the past few days," I returned.

"Yes?" and Mr. Harrison eyed me curiously.

"Yes. Our train was delayed, I almost had my handbag stolen, and I've been arrested as a thief."

"And all in a half an hour?" The gentleman and his wife both looked incredulous.

"No, sir; since I've left home."

"I should like to hear your story--that is, if you care to tell it."

"I will tell you the whole thing if you care to listen," I returned, reflecting that my newly made friend might give me some material a.s.sistance in my quest.

"Then come into the house."

"I'd better shut the alley gate first," said I, and running down I did so, and picked up my handbag as well.

Mr. Harrison led the way inside. I could not help but note the rich furnishings of the place--the soft carpets, artistically papered walls, the costly pictures and bric-a-brac, all telling of wealth.

Mrs. Harrison and the little girl had disappeared up the stairs. Mr.

Harrison ushered me into his library and motioned me to a seat.

I hardly knew how to begin my story. To show how John Stumpy had had me arrested, it would be necessary to go back to affairs at Darbyville, and this I hesitated about doing.

"If you have time I would like to tell you about my affairs before I started to come to Chicago," I said. "I would like your advice."

The gentleman looked at the clock resting upon the mantel shelf.

"I have an engagement at eleven o'clock," he returned. "Until then I am entirely at your service, and will be in the afternoon if you desire it. I'll promise to give you the best advice I can."

"Thank you. I am a stranger here, and most people won't pay much attention to a boy," I replied.

Then I told my story in full just as I have written it here. Mr.

Harrison was deeply interested.

"It is a strange case," he said, when I had concluded. "These men must be thorough rascals, every one of them. Of course it yet remains to be seen what this Chris Holtzmann has to do with the affair. He may be made to give evidence for or against your father just as he is approached. I think I would be careful at the first meeting."

"I did not intend to let him know who I was."

"A good plan."

"But now if I venture on the street I may be arrested," I went on.

"It is not likely. Chicago is a big city, and unless the officer who arrested you before meets you, it is improbable that he can give an accurate enough description of you for others to identify you. Then again, having failed in his duty, he may not report the case at all."

"That's so; but if I do run across him--"

"Then send for me. Here is my card. If I can be of service to you, I shall be glad."

Mr. Harrison gave me minute directions how to reach Holtzmann's place.

Then it was time for him to go, and we left the house together. I promised to call on him again before quitting Chicago.

It was with a lighter heart that I went on my way. In some manner I felt that I had at least one friend in the big city, to whom I could turn for advice and a.s.sistance.

Guided by the directions Mr. Harrison had given me, I had no difficulty in making my way in the direction of Chris Holtzmann's place of business or house, whatever it might prove to be.

As I pa.s.sed up one street and down another, I could not help but look about me with great curiosity. If Chicago was not New York, it was "next door" to it, and I could have easily spent the entire day in sightseeing.

But though my eyes were taking in all that was to be seen, my mind was busy speculating upon the future. What would Chris Holtzmann think of my visit, and what would be the result of our interview?

At length I turned down the street upon which his place was located.

It was a wide and busy thoroughfare, lined with shops of all kinds.

Saloons were numerous, and from several of them came the sounds of lively music.

"Can you tell me where Chris Holtzmann's place is?" I asked of a man on the corner.

"Holtzmann's? Sure! Down on the next corner."

"Thank you."

"Variety actor?" went on the man, curiously.

"Oh, no!" I laughed.

"Thought not. They're generally pretty tough--the ones Chris hires."

"Does he have a variety theatre?"

"That's what he calls it. But it's nothing but a concert hall with jugglers and tumblers thrown in."

I did not relish the idea of going into such a place, and I knew that my sister Kate and the Widow Canby would be horrified when they heard of it.

"What kind of a man is this Holtzmann?" I continued, seeing that the man I had accosted was inclined to talk.

"Oh, he's a good enough kind of a fellow if you know how to take him,"

was the reply. "He's a bit cranky if he's had a gla.s.s too much, but that don't happen often."

"Does he run the place himself?"

"What, tend bar and so?"

"Yes."