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The day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, May 19, 1913, Image 14

Image and text provided by University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL

Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83045487/1913-05-19/ed-1/seq-14/

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week he leaves his office at about
eight o'clock in the evening. He
never gets home until two in the
morning. A fellow who does that reg
ularly is up to something, isn't h.e?"
"As what, now?" challenged Dave.
"Well, carousing around. This is
his night for going on one of his mys
terious excursions. I watched him the
last time." ,
"Where did he go?"
"Don't know. J started to follow
him. He either suspected me and
slipped me, or I lost him in the crowd.
I know this, though he was headed
for the seamy side of the city."
"That isn't very definite," observed
Dave. "I don't want to make any
mistake."
"There won't be any," insisted
Mart "Are you nerved for a demon
stration?" "Of what?"
"A running down of our suspicions.
See here, Tilden is keen as they make
them. If he suspects that he is being
followed, he is clever enough to lead
a false chase. Let us be on hand to
night to take up the trail when he
leaves his office."
"I'm agreeable, provided we can do
it I don't want to blunder myself
into a laughing stock."
"Say," advanced Mart with spirit;
"I've arranged a great plan. We'll
disguise ourselves."
"How?" question Dave, du
biously. It took a long time for Mart to in
duce his companion to join forces
with him. His plan was a simple one.
They were to blacken their hands and
faces.
"Well pass in the crowd and in the
dark as negroes," explained Mart
"Oh, don't be so squeamish. If noth
ing comes of it, well get an idea of
local color in our ramblings, any
how." At length Dave agreed to the
proposition. When at about eight
o'clock that evening the young law
yer, Ralph Tilden, left his office,
where he had been at work writing
and studying, he had no idea that tw,pj
persons strolling after him were bent,
on tracing his movements.
"See how he has pulled his coat
collar up to hide his face," whispered
Mart, as Tilden turned into the next
street. 5
"Oh, that is quite natural," re
sponded Dave. "It's beginning to
drizzle, and he wants to shut the rauij
out."
The drizzle changed into a dreary
pelting rain in a short time. Dave
was glad when at lastTilden reached,
a two-story building on one of k&
lower strata streets of the city. Ojy
either side of the center openpnr
trance were saloons. A part ofthef
upper floor was lighted up, but thg
window shades were drawn trim and ,
.tight j-
"Do you see!" said Mart, exulting
Iv. erasDine: the arm of his com
panion. "What did I tell you?"
"Why, what do you mean?" in
quired Dave, staring blankly. ',J
"That place downstairs saloons?
upstairs the most notorious gambling
house in the city." j
"How do you know it?" s;ibmitteQ
Dave pointedly. ?
"Why er that is, I heard so
some one told me," explained Mart
stumblingly. : 1
In his excitement the speaker
wiped his face with his handkerchiefs
Dave brushed the rain drops from hia
They crossed the street and stood inr
the full glare of the strong electric,
arc lamf?, discussing what they would
do next. Some people passing by
stared strangely. Then a policeman:
came up, regarded them with a. suss
picious glare, and caught each by ther
collar.
"Ah!" he remarked "disguising
yourselves, eh? You'll explain this fcb
the sergeant, my hearties." ' w
Remonstrances were in vain. As
hooting crowd followed the two seek
ers after 'local color" clear to the
station. No "wonder! Where the rain
had trickled and their careless hands
had wandered, the faces of the nn-
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