Livingstone--better known to his friends
and the police as "Slick Bill"--smiled behind his hand. Not once since
he had left them had Mr. and Mrs. Hezekiah Warden been out of his sight.
"What's up, Bill? Need assistance?" demanded a voice at his elbow.
"Jim, by all that's lucky!" cried Livingstone, turning to greet a dapper
little man in gray. "Sure I need you! It's a peach, though I doubt if we
get much but fun, but there'll be enough of that to make up. Oh, he's
got money--'heaps of it,' he says," laughed Livingstone, "and I saw a
roll of bills myself. But I advise you not to count too much on that,
though it'll be easy enough to get what there is, all right. As for the
fun, Jim, look over by that post near the parcel window."
"Great Scott! Where'd you pick 'em?" chuckled the younger man.
"Never mind," returned the other with a shrug. "Meet me at Clyde's in
half an hour. We'll be there, never fear."
Over by the parcel-room an old man looked about him with anxious eyes.
"But, Abby, don't ye see?" he urged. "We've come so fer, seems as though
we oughter do the rest all right. Now, you jest set here an' let me go
an' find out how ter git there. We'll try fer Bunker Hill first, 'cause
we want ter see the munurmunt sure.
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