Of course, the news of Tip’s arrest was soon known all over town. Most people had anticipated such an event, and professed not to be in the least surprised to hear about it. Nevertheless, the clever device of Chief Wambold, which he took care should be passed from lip to lip, so as to add to his popularity, was highly commended.
And there never was a time when Scranton passed a more peaceful night than on that occasion. Already great good was coming of the breaking up of the vicious gang that had held sway much too long. With two of the members locked up, being just as good as on their way to the Reform School, and the leader forsaking his former evil practices, it looked as though the police force of Scranton would soon become fat and lazy through lack of activity.
Hugh did not go out that evening. He was tired, and wished to conserve his energies so as to be in first-class trim for that lively morning brush with Keyport’s Big Seven.
So he spent considerable time playing with little Joey; and, being still hopeful of learning something that would afford a clue to the mysterious past of the boy’s young mother, Hugh often plied him with questions.
But his success was hardly flattering to his acumen, for the little fellow could not tell him anything that would be of material help. Hugh guessed that they had once been out in some mining country, from certain things the boy chanced to mention. He also had reason to believe the father had come to his death through such a catastrophe as so often happens in the mines; for the boy spoke of many families losing those they loved when “poppy” was buried in the cold ground.
It was slow work, and anyone less tenacious than Hugh might have given up all hope of making a discovery. He believed, however, that if no other way arose by means of which they could find out what they sought, some time or other Joey was apt to let fall a word that might lead to discoveries.
The doctor came before bedtime, and said his patient was getting along nicely.
“Given one more day, and possibly by Sunday she may come into her senses again,” he told them before leaving. “And then she can thank you, madam, for all your kind heart has done for her. But that little boy is a sunbeam for any house. I have half a mind to steal him myself.”
THE LIVELY GAME WITH KEYPORT’S SEVEN
Many a fellow in Scranton felt blue early on Saturday morning, when, jumping from his warm bed, and hastening over to a window, he looked out to discover a few flakes of snow lazily drifting earthwards.
The gloomy sky seemed to be in fit condition for a heavy snowfall, that would put the hockey game with Keyport entirely out of the question.
By the time breakfast was ready, however, these fugitive snowflakes had ceased falling entirely, and, shortly afterwards, the bright sun broke out, lifting the load from myriads of enthusiastic young hearts.