a detective, confronted by an incident which you do not understand, you pretend that you do not see it, so that you may observe it without putting it on its guard. He stood looking after his wasted opportunity, for a regretful moment. Then he turned and ran towards City Hall Park, to get an express train in the subway station at the Bridge.
He knew that the Antwerp—if it was the Hotel Antwerp that was meant—was around the corner from the subway station at 42nd Street.
Barney wanted that “job.” Babbing had it, so to speak, in his pocket. And with the shrewd simplicity of youth, Barney proposed to follow and put himself in the way until he was asked, impatiently: “Well, boy, what do you want?” Then he would say what he wanted—and probably get it.
Although the subway is not so expensive as a taxi-cab, it is speedier, in the long run; and Barney was standing near the door of the Antwerp—somewhat blown but cheerfully
