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This having been done, Bog and Pet withdrew, and had hardly reached the foot of the tower, when the musical thunder of the great bell announced the constantly reiterated story of a fire in the Seventh that most combustible of all the city districts. Late on a fair afternoon of May, wedding guests began to assemble at old Van Quintem's house.
The question now was, how to spend them? for Bog knew of no more resorts of gamblers on Broadway; and there were none on any of the side streets which a man of young Van Quintem's style would be likely to frequent. It was the edge of evening. The boy walked up and down between Tenth and Fourteenth streets, thinking what it would be best to do next.
"Thank God! thank God!" murmured the old gentleman. Then he looked with a strange interest upon the honest and intelligent face of the lad. He was contrasting the history of the poor boy, which he had learned from Mrs. Crull, with that of his abandoned son. Old Van Quintem's increasing infirmities compelled him to lean for support on the arm of Mrs.
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.
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