Whether Mr. Blake, discouraged at
the failure of his own attempts, whatever they were, felt less heart
to prosecute them than usual I cannot say, but we had scarcely
entered upon the lower end of the Bowery, before he suddenly turned
with a look of disgust, and gazing hurriedly about him, hailed a
Madison Avenue car that was rapidly approaching. I was at that moment
on the other side of the way, but I hurried forward too, and signaled
the same car. But just as I was on the point of entering it I
perceived Mr. Blake step hastily back and with his eyes upon a girl
that was hurrying past him with a basket on her arm, regain the
sidewalk with a swiftness that argued his desire to stop her. Of
course I let the car pass me, though I did not dare approach him too
closely after my late conspicuous attempt to enter it with him. But
from my stand on the opposite curb-stone I saw him draw aside the
girl, who from her garments might have been the daughter or wife of
any one of the shiftless, drinking wretches lounging about on the
four corners within my view, and after talking earnestly with her for
a few moments, saunter at her side down Broome Street, still talking.
Reckless at this sight of the consequences which might follow his
detection of the part I was playing, I hasted after them, when I was
suddenly disconcerted by observing him hurriedly separate from the
girl and turn towards me with intention as it were to regain the
corner he had left.
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