He was not allowed to remain idle very long, however.

"Number forty-eight!" the man at the desk called sharply, and Jet
leaped to his feet.

"Go to No. -- East Fourteenth Street. Here is your slip."

Jet took the bit of paper and hurried away at full speed, to find that
he had been sent to a bar-room which was by no means noted for bearing
a good reputation so far as the honesty of its patrons was concerned.

Seated at one of the tables were two men. The elder, tall and slim,
and the other of medium height, but rather fleshy.

"Come here!" the thin man called as the messenger entered, and Jet
fancied that the fellow's full beard looked suspiciously heavy and
black.

"I wouldn't like to bet that all that hair grew on his face," Jet said
to himself, as he approached the table, but he gave the matter no
further thought, for it was his business to obey orders, and not
criticize his patrons.

"How long will it take you to go to the corner of Sixth Avenue and
Fifteenth Street?"

"Not more than ten minutes."

"Take this satchel and give it to a party with red hair who is standing
on the northwest corner."

"Suppose there should be more than one?" Jet asked as he took the
traveling-bag which was remarkably light in weight although it was
apparently stuffed full to bursting.

"The right man will ask your number, and you are to tell him it is one
hundred and ten."

"But he can see by my cap that I'm forty-eight."

"Do as I tell you, and never mind about your cap, do you hear?"

"Yes, sir."

"He will give you something to bring back, and you are not to stop on
the way, no matter what happens."

"I'm not in the habit of loafing," Jet replied, just a trifle
indignantly, and before he could say anything more the short man added
impatiently:

"Then don't do it here. Get on about your business, for we want the
answer in the ten minutes you promised."

Jet started at once, feeling decidedly hurt at the tone used by the
men, and, walking as rapidly as the crowds on the sidewalk would
permit, was soon at the appointed place.

A rough booking fellow with a shock of red hair which looked quite as
false as the tall man's whiskers, was waiting for him.

"What is your number?" he asked nervously.

"I was told to say one hundred and ten, but that isn't right."

"Give me the bag, and take this back," the man said, as he literally
tore Jet's burden from him, and thrust into the boy's hands a paper
parcel so heavy