THE FACE AT THE WINDOW.

For the moment Neka did not know what to do. His face flushed and he bit his lip.

The cashier, a young fop, by the way, stared hard at him.

“I--ah--I came away without any money in my pocket,” stammered Neka. It was the first time he had ever been caught this way.

“Sorry, but your check is thirty-five cents,” returned the clerk, coldly.

“Can I send it to you? I am Neka, of the Neka-Wadsworth Company, now playing in Philadelphia.”

“We don’t trust patrons--especially variety actors,” was the harsh reply. “You’ll have to pay before you leave.”

“But I can’t do that--I have only a few cents in my pocket and----”

“We’ve met your stripe before,” sneered the clerk. “If you can’t pay you’ll have to leave security.”

Neka was nonplused. He felt in his pockets. He had nothing to leave of any value. In his haste to follow the variety drunkard he had come off with little or nothing.

“I don’t know what I can leave,” he said, slowly.

“Might leave that overcoat.”

The clerk’s manner was so insolent that Neka was angered.

“Evidently you take me for a beat,” he cried. “But let me tell you that the opinion of a senseless fop doesn’t make it so.”

“You say another word and I’ll have you locked up!” howled the clerk. “Pay your bill and get out.”

“If you will send somebody with me I’ll pay the bill and also the messenger for his trouble,” returned Neka.

“I won’t send any messenger. John,” went on the clerk, calling a waiter. “Go out and get a policeman.”

This order was heard by a dozen patrons, and a crowd began to collect.

“He don’t look like a beat.”

“What’s his bill?”

“Thirty-five cents.”

“Humph! Well, he ought to be able to pay that.”

“He says he forgot his money.”

“That may be. I’ve forgotten my pocketbook myself, more than once.”

Before the waiter could leave, Neka stepped up to him.

“Instead of going for a policeman you call the proprietor,” he said.

“Well, sah--I must obey orders.”

“You’ll save yourself trouble by doing as I wish,” went on Neka.

At that moment a well-dressed gentleman walked in and up to the desk.

“What’s the trouble, Willis?” he demanded.

“This feller is trying to do me out of thirty-five cents!” grumbled the clerk.

“I was unfortunate enough to leave my hotel in Philadelphia without my purse,” put in Neka. “I have offered to let him send a messenger back with me and said I would pay for the trouble caused. But he will not listen and just ordered this waiter to call in a policeman. Here is my card. I am willing to do the right thing, and I must say that I was never treated so harshly before when there was no cause for it.”

The proprietor of the hotel took Neka’s card and glanced at it. His eyes lit up, for, as it happened, he had seen Neka on the stage only the night before.

“Willis, you must be losing your senses,” he said, sharply. “Don’t you know a gentleman when you see him?” He turned to the boy Fire King. “It’s all right, Mr. Neka, you can pay at any time you happen to be in the neighborhood again, and accept my apology for the trouble this clerk of mine has caused.”

“Thanks,” returned Neka, greatly relieved. Then of a sudden he plunged his hand into a pocket and brought out a couple of free passes for the theatre. “Won’t you accept these for your kindness?”

The proprietor took the passes and thanked Neka. The clerk felt cheap and worse, for he wished very much to see the performance. In the midst of the change of feeling Neka walked out. That very evening he remitted the amount of his bill.

“I was a chump!” growled the clerk to himself, after the restaurant proprietor had “raked him over the coals.” “If I had treated him better I might have had those passes instead of old Halsey.”

Leaving the vicinity of the restaurant, Neka walked slowly down to the ferry. A boat was in the slip and he got aboard and mingled with the crowd on the forward deck.

Scarcely had the ferryboat passed out of the slip than she had to stop, to allow a large schooner, drawn by a sturdy steam tug, to pass her, on the way up the river.

As the schooner passed slowly by, Neka, along with the other passengers, looked her over curiously. In the rear were several windows, and from one a face was peering. Just as the schooner swung past the ferryboat’s bow Neka recognized the face. It was that of Daniel Bambo!

At first Neka could scarcely believe his eyes, but a second look convinced him beyond all doubt that it was really and truly the ex-circus proprietor, his former guardian and taskmaster.

“What in the world is he doing on that boat,” thought Neka, for he had never heard of Daniel Bambo having any connection with the water.

He tried to make out the name of the schooner, but the paint was badly scratched, and ere he could decipher the letters the craft was almost out of sight. Bambo had not spied Neka and still remained at the window, looking out, curiously, so the boy had every opportunity to make certain there was no mistake.

As the ferryboat made its way across the stream, Neka kept his eye on the schooner, but she continued on her way without putting in at any of the numerous docks, so he was still at a loss as to her destination when he landed in Philadelphia.

Had he had money with him he would have lost no time in going back in an effort to follow Daniel Bambo. But he had had one bitter experience and he did not wish to invite a second. He walked to his hotel, as rapidly as he could.

Longfellow Wadsworth was standing in the lobby and to him Neka related his unusual tale, to which the elocutionist listened with deep interest.

“I’ll go with you, Neka,” said Wadsworth. “We have neither rehearsal nor matinee to-day.”

And soon they were off, and this time the lad had made certain he was not without funds.

Arriving in Camden they hired a sleigh and drove as close to the river front as the streets would permit. As block after block was passed, Neka gazed anxiously for some sign of the schooner, but without avail.

“It may have crossed and landed on the Philadelphia side,” said Longfellow Wadsworth. “We can go but a few blocks farther.”

The end of the street was reached and still no schooner answering the description of the right one appeared.

“It does not look as if they had crossed over,” said Neka. “But what made him hug this shore so closely?”

“Perhaps the tide,” returned Longfellow Wadsworth, but Neka shook his head.

There was, however, nothing to do but to go back, and this they did. But on the way they stopped at several docks and here gained a clew.

“Thet schooner went over ter Philly,” said an old longshoreman, who sat in a sheltered corner smoking a clay pipe. “I know her well.”

“What is her name?”

“The _Blue Dart_.”

“That’s it!” cried Neka. “I remember the letters, BL and AR, on her stern and there was a dart beneath.”

“Where is she bound for?” questioned Wadsworth.

“Mor’n likely she went over to the Ringstetter wharves,” replied the longshoreman. “I reckon she was loaded with some truck from the Bahamas.”

“Thank you,” said Neka, and slipped a dime into the old fellow’s hand.

Without further delay, the pair drove back to the ferry. A very few minutes sufficed to land them once more on Pennsylvania soil.

At the ferry station they found out where the Ringstetter wharves were, and lost no time in turning their sleigh in that direction.

“We must capture Daniel Bambo if we possibly can,” said Neka.

“He’ll be a much surprised man if we do,” laughed Longfellow Wadsworth. “I wonder if he is aware we are performing in this city?”

“He must know, if he has any eyes. There are billboards enough around, announcing that fact.”

“Perhaps he hasn’t been ashore yet. Maybe he fled to the Bahamas when he ran away from New York.”

“He couldn’t get back so soon, could he?”

“If he took a steamer out.”

The two wondered if Daniel Bambo was alone, or if Hank Maul was with him.

Their doubt on this point was, however, soon set at rest. As the sleigh turned a corner they almost ran over a pair of men who were about to cross the street.

“Hi! hi! Don’t run over us!” yelled one of the men. Then he fell back in amazement. “Neka!” he gasped.

The man was Daniel Bambo. His companion was Hank Maul.

“Neka, by gum!” howled the ex-circus proprietor, and then, without further words, the pair of rascals took to their heels up the narrow and snow-laden thoroughfare.