“I knew what sent him there and so did the church folks, judgin’ by their remarks when the contribution came in.  But I was too much set back by the whole crazy business to say anything about that.

“‘Look here, Jonadab Wixon,’ I sings out, ’do you mean to tell me that we’ve got to put in the whole forenoon ransackin’ New York to find a boy that run off twenty-two years ago?’

“‘It won’t take the forenoon,’ he says.  ‘I’ve got the number, ain’t I?’

“’Yes, you’ve got the number where he was.  If you want to know where I think he’s likely to be now, I’d try the jail.’

“But he said I was unfeelin’ and disobligin’ and lots more, so, to cut the argument short, I agreed to go.  And off we put to hunt up 116 East Blank Street.  And when we located it, after a good hour of askin’ questions, and payin’ car fares and wearin’ out shoe leather, ’twas a Chinese laundry.

“‘Well,’ I says, sarcastic, ’here we be.  Which one of the heathen do you think is Jimmie?  If he had an inch or so more of upper lip, I’d gamble on that critter with the pink nighty and the baskets on his feet.  He has a kind of familiar chicken-stealin’ look in his eye.  Oh, come down on the wharves, Jonadab, and be sensible.’

“Would you believe it, he wa’n’t satisfied.  We must go into the wash shop and ask the Chinamen if they knew Jimmie Kelly.  So we went in and the powwow begun.

“‘Twas a mighty unsatisfyin’ interview.  Jonadab’s idea of talkin’ to furriners is to yell at ’em as if they was stone deef.  If they don’t understand what you say, yell louder.  So between his yells and the heathen’s jabber and grunts the hullabaloo was worse than a cat in a hen yard.  Folks begun to stop outside the door and listen and grin.

“‘What did he say?’ asks the Cap’n, turnin’ to me.

“‘I don’t know,’ says I, ‘but I cal’late he’s gettin’ ready to send a note up to the crazy asylum.  Come on out of here afore I go loony myself.’

“So he done it, finally, cross as all get out, and swearin’ that all Chinese was no good and oughtn’t to be allowed in this country.  But he wouldn’t give up, not yet.  He must scare up some of the neighbors and ask them.  The fifth man that we asked was an old chap who remembered that there used to be a liquor saloon once where the laundry was now.  But he didn’t know who run it or what had become of him.

“‘Never mind,’ I says.  ’You’re as warm as you’re likely to be this trip.  A rum shop is just about the place I’d expect that Kelly boy would be in.  And, if he’s like the rest of his relations on his dad’s side, he drank himself to death years ago.  Now will you head for the Savannah Line?’

“Not much, he wouldn’t.  He had another notion.  We’d look in the directory.  That seemed to have a glimmer of sense somewheres in its neighborhood, so we found an apothecary store and the clerk handed us out a book once again as big as a church Bible.