CHAPTER XV.
THE FOILED ASSASSIN About four o'clock Joe went into a restaurant and got some dinner.
In spite of his wish to be economical, his dinner bill amounted to a dollar and a half, and now his cash in hand was reduced to two dollars and a half.
Joe began to feel uneasy.
"This won't do," he said to himself.

"At this rate I shall soon be penniless.

I must get something to do." In the evening he strolled down Montgomery Street to Telegraph Hill.
It was not a very choice locality, the only buildings being shabby little dens, frequented by a class of social outlaws who kept concealed during the day but came out at night--a class to which the outrages frequent at this time were rightly attributed.
Joe was stumbling along the uneven path, when all at once he found himself confronted by a tall fellow wearing a slouched hat.

The man paused in front of him, but did not say a word.

Finding that he was not disposed to move aside, Joe stepped aside himself.