hich were scrawled the words:

_Peerless Athletic Club_

"Hum! Must be a queer sort of club," mused Joe. "I guess they do more
exercise with their tongues, and with billiard cues, than with their
muscles."

For, as he mounted the steps, he heard from within the click of billiard
and pool balls, and the noise of talk and laughter. It was one of the
so-called "athletic" clubs, that often abound in low neighborhoods,
where the name is but an excuse for young "toughs" to gather. Under the
name, and sometimes incorporation of a "club," they have certain rights
and privileges not otherwise obtainable. They are often a political
factor, and the authorities, for the sake of the votes they control,
wink at minor violations of the law. It was to such a place as this that
Joe had come--or, in view of what happened afterward, had been lured
would be the more proper term.

"Well, what do youse want?" asked an ill-favored youth, as Joe entered
the poorly lighted hall. The fellow had his hat tilted to one side, and
a cigarette was glued to one lip, moving up and down curiously as he
spoke.

"I don't know who I want," said Joe, as pleasantly as he could. "I was
told to come here to do my friend Rad Chase a favor. I'm Joe Matson, of
the Cardinals, and----"

"Oh, yes. He's expectin' youse. Go on in," and the fellow nodded toward
a back room, the door of which stood partly open. Joe hesitated a
moment, while the youth who had spoken to him went out and stood on the
half-rotting steps. Then, deciding that, as he had come thus far, he
might as well see the thing through, Joe started for the rear room.

But, as he reached the door, and heard a voice speaking, he hesitated.
For what he heard was this:

"S'posin' he don't come?"

"Aw, he'll come all right, Wessel," said another voice. "He sure is
stuck on his friend Rad, and he'll want to know what he can do for him.
He'll come, all right."

"Shalleg!" gasped Joe, as he recognized the tones. "It's a trick. He
thinks he can trap me here!"

As he turned to go, Joe heard Wessel say:

"There won't be no rough work; will there?"

"Oh, no! Not too rough!" replied Shalleg with a nasty laugh.

Deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, Joe was hastening
away when he accidentally knocked over a box in the hall. Instantly the
door to the rear room was thrown wide open, giving the young pitcher, as
he turned, a glimpse of Shalleg, Wessel and several other men seated
abo