Once outside, Willie breathed freely again. Though nothing alarming had happened to him in the restaurant, he had been in a state of suppressed excitement all the time he was inside the place. Now he felt as though he could not keep quiet another instant. He wanted to run or shout or do something violent to give vent to his feelings. Yet he didn’t want to do anything that would draw undesirable attention to himself. Just then he thought of his papers. _“Sun! Woild! Joinal!”_ he cried, imitating as nearly as he could the gutter English of the newsies. He ran about among the crowd, now here, now there, crying his papers, but making few sales. Presently he worked off his excitement and suddenly he thought of Roy. “Gee whiz!” he muttered to himself. “I forgot all about Roy. He’ll be bothered to death about me. He probably will think I’ve gotten into trouble. I must telephone him at once.” He looked closely up and down the street, to see if any one in sight looked like a Secret Service man, then scurried along the street, looking for a telephone-booth. Soon he saw one in a shop, and in another moment he was speaking to the watchman at the _Lycoming’s_ pier. The watchman said he would tell Mr. Mercer that his friend was unavoidably delayed, but was all right, and would be home during the evening, and that Mr. Mercer should eat his supper without his friend. With his mind relieved about Roy, Willie returned to his vigil outside the evil-looking coffee-house. The street became deserted. Darkness had long since come and the street lamps had been lighted. It made Willie’s job both harder and easier. The deep shadows rendered concealment easy. On the other hand, the stirring life of the city had disappeared. There was little of interest to arrest the attention, and Willie’s vigil grew tiresome enough. He kept his eyes open for passers-by who might prove to be possible helpers for Sheridan, but every one went briskly past, as though he had a definite destination and was in a hurry to reach it. To Willie it seemed as though it must be nearly midnight, though it was really scarcely eight o’clock, when a group of men came noisily out of the coffee-house and headed down South Street. Willie knew them instantly, though in the dim light he could not distinguish faces. They were the bargemen. He was almost minded to follow them. Then he thought better of it. Sheridan would trail them, if it were necessary. So Willie stood still in the shadowy hallway where he was watching, and waited. In a few moments the tramp came out, and Willie was afraid the man really was intoxicated, so uncertainly did he start out. But when Willie ran up to him, crying, “Paper! _Sun! Woild! Joinal!_” the Secret Service man got control of his faculties quickly enough. “Go round the corner,” he muttered, “and meet me under the elevated.”