nd doubtless pained him not a little.

Another boy passed up Broadway at the same time, and only a little way
behind Mortimer.

It was Bob Hunter, and he managed to keep the same distance between
himself and young Mortimer, whom, in fact, he was "shadowing." Of
course, Mortimer knew nothing of this. In fact, he did not know such a
boy as Bob Hunter existed.

At the post office Felix Mortimer turned into Park Row. He stopped and
read the bulletins at the _Mail and Express_ office. Then he bought an
evening paper, and, standing on the steps of the _World_ office, looked
it over hastily.

Now he moved on up Publishers' Row, passing the _Times_, the _Tribune_,
and the _Sun_ buildings, and walked along Chatham Street. Presently he
emerged into the Bowery. Now he walked more rapidly than he had been
doing, so that Bob had to quicken his pace to keep him in sight.

At the corner of Pell Street and the Bowery he met a young man who
seemed to be waiting for him.

"I've been hanging round here for 'most half an hour," said he, as if
displeased.

"I'm here on time," replied Felix; "just half past five. Come, let's
have a glass of beer."

Peter Smartweed was the name of this young fellow, as Bob afterwards
found out.

When Felix and his friend passed into the drinking saloon, Bob followed
them as far as the door; then he turned back, and sought the disguise of
a bootblack.

A young knight of the brush stood near by, with his blacking box slung
over his shoulder. Bob arranged with him for the use of it for a few
moments, promising to pay over to him all the proceeds he made thereby.
He also exchanged his own hat for the cap the boy had on, and, with this
head gear pulled down over the left side of his face, the appearance
of Bob Hunter was much changed. His accustomed step, quick, firm, and
expressive, was changed to that of the nerveless, aimless boy--a sort of
shuffle.

Thus disguised, he approached Felix Mortimer and his companion, who were
sitting at a table with a partially filled schooner of beer before each
of them.

"Shine? shine, boss?" said Bob, in a strange voice.

No response was made by the convivial youths.

"Two for five!" continued Bob, persistently. "Two reg'lar patent
leathers for only five cents!"

Peter looked at his boots. They were muddy. Then he argued with himself
that Felix had paid for the beer, so it seemed to him that he could not
even up the score in any less expensive way than by pa