"Me for Mexico. You can't lose me."
"I'm sorry to say that you'll have to remain here," said Nestor,
noting with regret the keen disappointment in the boy's face.
"After we leave the building you must call a surgeon and see
that Mr. Cameron is cared for. The surgeon will call the police
if he thinks it advisable."
"The cops will geezle me," wailed Jimmie.
"I think not," was the reply; "not if you tell them the truth.
Make it as easy for Fremont as you can by saying that he had
been here only a minute when you came in, and that he had just
entered the building. You may say, too, that we have gone out
to look up a clue we found here, in the hope of discovering the
assassin. Tell the truth, and they can't tangle you up."
"They can lock me up," said the boy. "I'll call a surgeon an'
duck. You see if I don't. It is Mexico for mine."
"I suppose you have the price?" laughed Nestor.
"I haven't got carfare to Brooklyn," was the laughing reply,
"but that don't count with me. I guess I know something about
traveling without money."
Having thus arranged for the care of the unconscious man, and
tried to console Jimmie for his great disappointment, Nestor and
Fremont left the big building, seeing, as the latter supposed,
no one on their way out. As they turned out of the Great White
Way, still blazing with lights, directing their steps toward
the East River, Fremont turned about and glanced with varying
emotions at the brilliant scene he was leaving.
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