"
"Oh, this is out of hours; we quit at six, you know."
"Strikes me ye might find somethin' better to do than foolin' with
them dirty pasteboards, if 'tis out of hours;" said Mr. Wicks,
pointedly.
"They are rather soiled," remarked Dick, critically examining the queen
of hearts; and then he continued, in a matter-of-fact tone, "you see
I found them back of the coal box; some fellow had thrown them away,
I guess. Lucky for me that he did."
"Lucky for you? Is that the best you can do with your time?"
"Perhaps you would suggest some more elevating amusement," smiled Dick.
"Well, why don't you read somethin'?"
The young man waved his pipe toward a lot of month-old papers and
printers journals--"My dear sir, I have gone through that pile three
times and have exhausted every almanac in this establishment."
"Visit some of your friends."
"Not one in the city except Udell," answered the other, "and if I
had--" he glanced down at his worn clothing.
Mr. Wicks tried again; "Well, go somewhere."
"Where?" asked Dick. "There is only one place open to _me_ --the
saloon--I haven't money enough for that, and if I had, I wouldn't spend
it there now. I might go to some respectable gambling den, I suppose,
but there's the money question again, and my foolish pride, so I play
solitaire. I know I am in good company at least, if the sport isn't
quite so exciting."
Uncle Bobbie was silent. The rain swished against the windows and
roared on the tin roof of the building; the last car of the evening,
with one lone passenger, scurried along Broadway, its lights brightly
reflected on the wet pavement; a cab rumbled toward the hotel, the
sound of the horses' feet dull and muffled in the mist; and a solitary
policeman, wrapped in his rubber coat, made his way along the almost
deserted street.
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