"It's getting to be a habit with me," he said grimly, as he hurried along.
What happened back in the lodging house he did not know and he cared less. That his flight would seem a confession of guilt he was sure; but what did it matter?
It was cold and dark and cheerless in the streets. He was a night wanderer, with no place to go, and, as far as he knew, not a friend in the big city.
"I guess I'll have to walk the streets all night," poor Ned thought. "I haven't much money left."
He felt in the pocket of his overcoat, and counted the change. There was less than a dollar.
"Have to take fifteen cent beds after this," he remarked to himself. "As for eating I guess I'll have to cut that out altogether."
He walked through several thoroughfares. Not a soul did he meet save once as he passed a policeman the officer stared at him suspiciously. But Ned still had his good clothes with him, and his overcoat though crumpled from being used as a bed-spread, made him look decent enough to pass muster in the neighborhood where he was.
"I think I'll find another lodging house and get a bed," he said to himself. "I must get a little rest if I am to look for work to-morrow."
