A dim plan had begun to form itself in Hank’s mind as the other spoke, but as yet it had not assumed definite form. Instead, he remarked lightly: “Oh, I guess it’ll come out all right, Jim. Here, take this”--he handed the other half a dollar--“and be here to-night at eight o’clock. I may have something to talk over with you.” “All right, Hank, I’ll be here, don’t you worry.” “So long, then,” exclaimed the other. “I’m off.” With more energy than he had displayed for some time past Hank shot out of the door and off up the street. He spent his money to such good advantage that at the end of an hour he emerged from his small room in a rickety tenement,--which he preferred to an airy room and wholesome work on the farm,--with a clean collar and neatly slicked-down hair. His battered, broken boots, too, bore a glossy polish. But all Hank’s efforts to improve his appearance could not erase from his face that expression which instinctively made people loath and distrust him. At the appointed time he was at the hotel mentioned by Senor Charbonde, and was closeted in deep consultation with that astute gentleman for an hour or more. When he came out his face bore a broad smile--or grin, rather, the former word hardly applying to Hank’s peculiar expression of satisfaction. “So that’s the game, is it?” he muttered to himself, as he found his way to the crowded street. “Well, I’ll get the man you want and right on board the _Beale_, too, but you’ll have to pay for it, and pay heavy. Too bad, though, that the dago had to go and tell those boys about his plans. No use worrying about that, however. I guess I’m slick enough to fix them, or else----” A cross-town car going in his direction passed before Hank had time to finish his train of thought. He swung himself on the back platform, but had hardly done so before he almost fell off again. Facing him were the two last persons in the world he wished to see just then--Ned Strong and Herc Taylor. For their part, the Dreadnought Boys were almost as much astonished, though, of course, their feelings had a very different tinge. The situation would have been embarrassing but for the fact that Hank, without a sign of recognition, dived rapidly forward into the crowd and soon was swallowed in a perfect sea of heads and shoulders. “The last person I’d have thought of meeting,” gasped Ned. “The last person I’d want to meet,” growled Herc, clutching an armful of bundles he held as vindictively as if he had Hank in his grip. The Dreadnought Boys had been spending their last day ashore in getting a few necessities for the voyage. “I noticed him in the crowd on the sidewalk before he boarded the car, and was going to draw your attention to him,” said Herc, “but I thought I must be mistaken.” “What was he doing?” “Why, he had just come down the steps of the Hotel Espanola.” “The Hotel Espanola,” exclaimed Ned in an astonished voice. “Why, that’s the hotel that Charbonde mentioned this morning.”