d the corner of Pacific
Street, then a dark and suspicious locality in the immediate
neighborhood of a number of low public houses of bad reputation. The
night was dark, for there was no moon.

Suddenly he felt himself seized in a tight grip, while a low, stern
voice in his ear demanded:

"Your money, and be quick about it!"

Hogan was not a brave man, but this demand, in his impecunious
condition, instead of terrifying him, struck his sense of humor as an
exceedingly good joke.

"You've got the wrong man!" he chuckled.

"Stop your fooling, and hand over your money, quickly!" was the stern
rejoinder.

"My dear friend," said Hogan, "if you can find any money about me,
it's more than I can do myself."

"Are you on the square?" demanded the other suspiciously.

"Look at me, and see."

The highwayman took him at his word. Lighting a match, he surveyed
his captive.

"You don't look wealthy, that's a fact," he admitted. "Where are you
going?"

"I don't know. I haven't got any money, nor any place to sleep."

"Then you'd better be leaving this place, or another mistake may be
made."

"Stop!" said Hogan, with a sudden thought. "Though I haven't any
money, I can tell you where we can both find some."

"Do you mean it?"

"Yes."

"Come in here, then, and come to business."

He led Hogan into a low shanty on Pacific Street, and, bidding him be
seated on a broken settee, waited for particulars.

CHAPTER XXI

READY FOR MISCHIEF

Though Hogan was a scamp in the superlative degree, the burly ruffian
who seated himself by his side looked the character much better. He
was not a man to beat about the bush. As he expressed it, he wanted
to come to business at once.

"What's your game, pard?" he demanded. "Out with it."

Hogan's plan, as the reader has already surmised, was to break into
Joe's restaurant and seize whatever money he might be found to have
on the premises. He recommended it earnestly, for two reasons.
First, a share of the money would be welcome; and, secondly, he would
be gratified to revenge himself upon the boy, whom he disliked
because he had injured him.

Jack Rafferty listened in silence.

"I don't know about it," he said. "There's a risk."

"I don't see any risk. We two ought to be a match for a boy."

"Of course we are. If we wasn't I'd go hang myself up for a milksop.
Are you sure there's no one else with him?"

"Not a soul."

"That's well, so far; but we mig