“Guess your watch is slow, ain’t it?” growled the officer. “I don’t know: maybe so,” Phil replied. “Don’t you know better’n to come huntin’ down here for a bizness-man after six o’clock at night?” asked the officer. Phil admitted to himself that he did not; still, he had come ashore to find Mr. Tramlay, and the idea of giving up the search did not occur to him. He finally asked,-- “Where do you suppose I can find him?” “At home, I guess, if he’s one of the kind that goes straight home from his store.” “I reckon he is,” said Phil. “Will you please tell me where he lives?” “Oh, come off!” muttered the policeman. “D’ye s’pose I ain’t got nothin’ to do but know where folks live? Where was you brought up?--‘way back?” “I’m sorry I bothered you, sir,” said Phil, who now saw the officer’s uniform, and recognized it, by memory of pictures he had seen in illustrated newspapers. “Isn’t there any way to find out where a man lives in New York?” “Certainly; look in the Directory. Go up to Broadway,--it’s up at the head of this street,--an’ go along till you find a drug-store. Like enough you’ll find a Directory there.” Phil followed instructions, and learned the street and number of the Tramlay domicile. In front of him street-cars were continually coming and going, and by the conductors of these he was referred from one to another until he found a car which went to the street he wanted to reach. Although Phil knew the city was large, the journey seemed very long; it was made an hour longer than it should have been; for a fire had broken out somewhere along the route, and engine-hose blockaded the railway-track. When finally the desired street was reached, Phil found himself several hundred numbers away from that he was looking for, and it was then nearly nine o’clock. “I’ve half a mind to give it up,” said Phil, as he walked rapidly along. “Perhaps they go to bed early: there’s no telling. Still, if they’re abed I’ll know it by the lights being out. I don’t seem to walk down these numbers very fast.” He quickened his steps; he almost ran; but more than a quarter of an hour passed before he saw on a glass transom the number that indicated his journey was at an end. Phil stopped; then he crossed the street, and surveyed the house carefully. “Lights in all the windows,” said he. “That looks as if they’d all gone to their own rooms; looks like bed-time. I was afraid of it. I suppose there’s nothing to do but go back to the sloop, or find some place to lodge. Too bad!” He re-crossed the street, and ascended a step or two: truthful though he was, he would have denied to any one but himself that he did it only because Lucia had tripped up those same steps. Slowly he descended and walked away; but he had passed but a house or two, and was looking backward, when a man who had passed him ran up the Tramlay steps. Then Phil saw a flash of light and heard a door close.