Bill Fish snatched the notes from Bog's hand, and ran down the street after a stage which had just left the ferry house on its down trip. Bog saw him seat himself on the step, with his head well hid from the driver, and sent a parting whistle after him, to which Bill Fish responded with an enormous grin and a jerk of thumb over shoulder at his natural enemy on the box. "I'll give Bill Fish a good job, some day," mused Bog. "Now for the scoundrel." The boat had come in. Bog watched from his hiding place until he saw young Van Quintem step on board, and disappear in the ladies' cabin. Then he hastened to the ferry house, paid his fare, and entered. To avoid being seen by young Van Quintem, he took a seat in that repository of stale tobacco-smoke called the "Gentlemen's Cabin." At the Greenpoint landing, Bog watched young Van Quintem's departure from the boat, and stole out, taking the opposite side of the street. It was then quite dark, and, with reasonable precaution, there was no fear that the pursued would see him. The young profligate walked up the street several blocks, and turned into a side street, occupied by residences, with small shops and groceries at the corners, and occasionally at intervals between them. Suddenly, Bog observed him looking around, as if to be sure that he was not watched. Bog slipped behind a large tree. Having apparently come to the conclusion that nobody was observing him, young Van Quintem strode on rapidly a few rods farther, and then made a sharp turn into a neat little millinery shop, which stood quite remote from all other places of business. When the young man's form had disappeared, Bog ran at the top of his speed to a point opposite the shop, where he could readily see what was going on within. The door was open and a strong light from the interior shone across the street. There was no tree or awning post, or other object, on the sidewalk, behind which he could conceal himself. Exactly opposite to the shop, and in the full blaze of its light, was a high door shutting on a small alley way. Bog tried the latch, and found the door locked. With instant decision, he caught the top of the door, and vaulted over it, trusting to fortune not to be caught on the inside. Applying his eye to the keyhole, he observed the following condition of things: The shop was a milliner's, beyond all question. It was filled with articles of ladies' wear, whose names and uses were all unknown to Bog; while outside, in the air, dangled various patterns of skirts which had just then come into fashion; and the public and obtrusive exhibition of which is one of the singularities of our rapid civilization.