“Is Mr. Logan there?” asked Joe.

“Sure he is.  Upstairs in one of de rooms.  He’s been on a terrible spree he said, but he’s sober now and sick—­gee, mister, but he sure was sick.  Me mudder helped take care of him.”

“I’m glad of that,” said Joe.  “We’ll go to him at once.  Where is Kelly’s—­er—­cafe?”

“Down by de river near de shipyards,” answered the red-haired lad.

For an instant Joe hesitated, but only for an instant.  The district named, as he well knew, was a bad one.  It was also dangerous.

But it was still afternoon, though growing late.  It would not be dark for some time, however, and Joe felt that he would be safe enough in going alone.  At night he would have taken some one with him.

But there were two reasons why he did not want to do this now.  One was that no one whom he felt he could trust to be discreet could be taken away from the circus, which was not yet over, though Joe’s acts were finished.  Another reason was that he did not want the possible degradation of Logan seen by any of his former associates.  Possibly he might come back to the show, and he would always have a feeling of shame if he knew that those with whom he worked had seen him recovering from a “spree,” as the red-haired lad called it.

“I’ve got to go away,” said Joe to Paddy Flynn.  Joe and the lad had talked at one side of the tent and in low tones, so the young circus man knew their voices had not been overheard by Paddy and the man he was guarding, Harry Loper.  “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” went on the young fire-eater.  “Meanwhile you stay here, Loper.  Paddy will take care of you, and when I come back I’ll have a talk with you.”

“All right,” assented the other wearily.  “I feel better now I’ve told you.”

Joe and Micky Donlon, which the red-haired boy said was his name, though probably Michael was what he had been christened, were soon on their way toward the river and the location of one of the shipyards.

“Are youse sure I can see de show to-night?” asked Micky eagerly, as they walked along.

“Positive,” said Joe.  “Here’s a reserved seat ticket now.  Two, in fact, in case you want to take some one.”

“I’ll take me mudder,” declared the lad.  “I got a girl, but she’s goin’ wit another feller.  He bought two tickets, but dey wasn’t reserved seats.  I didn’t have the dough—­dat’s why she shook me, I guess.  But when I flash dese on her—­say, maybe she won’t want to shine up at me again!  But nothin’ doin’!  I’ll take me mudder.  She needs a change after waitin’ on dat guy what’s been on a spree.”

“How long has Mr. Logan been ill?” asked Joe.

“Oh, he’s been in Kelly’s joint for a week.”

“He must have been waiting for the circus to arrive,” thought Joe.  “He knew we were booked for here.  Poor fellow!”

Joe was glad it was still light when he entered the district where Kelly’s cafe, or saloon, to be more exact, was situated.  For the place was most disreputable in appearance, and the character of men loitering about it would have made it a place to stay away from after dark.