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Updated: June 6, 2025
And Steve looked about him suspiciously, his glance finally falling on Tom's left-hand neighbour, a youth of perhaps nineteen years upon whose good-looking face rested an amused smile. Instantly, however, the paper he was holding was raised to hide his face, and Steve frowned. The fellow was, thought Steve, altogether too well-dressed and slick-looking to be honest, and that smile disturbed him.
"Oh, now you are in town you'll have to look around a bit," said the slick-looking individual. "You can take a train back to-morrow just as well. Let me show you a few of the sights." This tickled the old farmer and he agreed to remain over until the next noon. Then Henry Davis dragged the old man around to various points of interest and grew more familiar than ever.
He felt much perplexed, for he could not remember having met the other man before. "How are matters up on the farm?" went on the stranger. "Thank you, very good." "I er I don't think you remember me, Mr. Bean," went on the slick-looking individual. "Well, somehow I think I know your face," answered the old farmer, lamely. He did not wish to appear wanting in politeness. "You ought to remember me.
While we were talking a slick-looking fellow, who I took to be a store clerk, walked in, and Bill invited him to take a drink, which he did, and I was introduced to Mason Long, who now styles himself "the converted gambler." Bill, Charlie, and I left Cleveland and went to Buffalo, but the night we left we had downed a sucker for $1,300, and thought best not to wait for morning.
Slick-looking posters went up the aisle just now, what?" Bob admitted that there was something peculiar about them. "Sharpers, if I ever saw any," said the lanky one. "We're overrun with 'em. They come out from the East, and because they can dress and know how to sling language Say," he suddenly became serious, "you'd be surprised the way the girls fall for 'em.
She and Cora, turning into Grand from Winnebago Street, would make for the post office. Then down the length of Grand with a leaping glance at Schroeder's corner before they reached it. Yes, there they were, very clean-shaven, clean-shirted, slick-looking. Tessie would have known Chuck's blond head among a thousand. An air of studied hauteur and indifference as they approached the corner.
The long, slick-looking, lively seine-boat in tow and the black pile of netting on deck told what they were, and they came jumping out of the mists in a way to make a man's heart beat. There was a man standing on the jetty. He was master of a three-masted coaster, he told me. "You come off one of them Gloucester mackerel-catchers?" he asked me. I said yes.
"This girl says a cop was up calling on her father. I met the guy. His name was Burke. Do you know him? Is he apt to queer anything?" Jimmie the Monk started. "Burke? What did he look like?" "Oh, pretty slick-looking gink. Well set-up looked like an army man, and gave me a hard stare when he lamped me. Had been in the hospital with the old fellow."
At last they came to a halt in front of a building displaying the sign: JOHNSON'S QUAKER HOTEL "This hotel is all right and the prices are right, too," Joe heard the slick-looking man tell the old farmer. "Then thet suits me," answered Josiah Bean. "I'll go in an' git a room fer the night." "I think I might as well do the same," said Henry Davis.
Bright and early in the morning our hero arose, dressed himself, and went below. He had breakfast in the restaurant attached to the hotel and was just finishing up when the old farmer and the slick-looking individual came in. "Hullo!" cried Josiah Bean. "What are you doin' here?" "I got a room overnight," answered our hero. "We're stopping here, too. This is my friend, Mr. Henry Davis."
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