“In a store, hey? Know’d you’d come to something. Does it pay, Will? Ain’t it dreadful wearing? Seems to me I’d seem like a sparrow in a cage.”
“I did at first,” said Will, drawing his friend to a seat. “You soon get broke in, though. I like it better than the street now.”
“Is that so?” said Joe, looking at Will as at one who has made a successful voyage of discovery. “Shoot me if I ain’t got a notion of trying it. I’m getting too big for this job. How did you get a place?”
“I asked for it, and wouldn’t take no for an answer. I jist captured it.”
“You’re the chap for that,” said Joe, admiringly. “Wish you’d work me in somewhere. You must be getting to know folks.”
“I’ll work for you,” answered Will. “It’s about time you was giving up this trade. You’re well posted about town yourself, Joe.”
“Not among bizness folks. Know a good deal about down-towners. Ain’t many cribs I haven’t been in or smelt out.”
“Bet I could name some what would stump you.”
“I’ll cover it,” said Joe, producing a piece of soiled currency of that value. “But you ain’t to go on all day. Won’t give you but three chances.”
“That’s square,” said Will. “Let’s see now. Where’s Ned Hogan’s Retreat?”
“Shippen, below Second, and one chance sold cheap,” said Joe, triumphantly.
“Where’s Tim the Tinker’s crib? Think I’ve got you there.”
“Not by a jug full,” cried Joe, with an eager laugh. “It’s on Beach street, above Brown. Guess I’ll rake down them tens.”
“You’re pretty well posted, Joe,” said Will, with a reflective pause. “Calculate to throw you on the next, though.”
“’Tain’t in the wood,” said Joe, confidently.
“It’s a namesake of yours. You ought to know your own relations. Where’s Black-eyed Joe’s Mill?”
Will gazed at him triumphantly, as Joe sat scratching his head, with an air of reflection.
“Hold up,” said Joe. “Give a feller time to think. I don’t know him by that name. But I’ve got a notion I could nail him. Ain’t goin to give up the bet till it’s settled.”
“It’s Joe Prime, that keeps the confidential house in a little street off South street. He’s got eyes as black as coal, and I once heard his place called the mill. You’re sold, Will. Pass over them tens.”
“He’s a fence, then, and keeps a stock of burglar’s goods in store?”