Carl rushed into the room and urged him to go to Hastings, a town five miles from Haydensville. .
“Jim Pearson ’s outside with his car,” Carl said excitedly, “and he 11 take us down. He’s got to come right back—he *s only going for some booze— but we need n’t come back if we don’t want to. We 11 have a drink and give Hastings the once¬ over. How’s to come along?”
“All right,” Hugh agreed indifferently and began to pull on his baa-baa coat. UI’m with you. A shot of gin might jazz me up a little.”
Once in Hastings, Pearson drove to a private residence at the edge of the town. The boys got out of the car and filed around to the back door, which was opened to their knock by a young man with a hatchet face and hard blue eyes.
“Hello, Mr. Pearson,” he said with an effort to be pleasant. “Want some gin?”
“Yes, and some Scotch, too, Pete—if you have it 111 take two quarts of Scotch and one of gin.”
“All right.” Pete led the way down into the cellar, switching on an electric light when he reached the foot of the stairs. There was a small bar ir; the rear of the dingy, underground room, a table ot two, and dozens of small boxes stacked against th« wall.
It was Hugh’s first visit to a bootlegger’s den and he was keenly interested. He had a high-bal along with Carl and Pearson; then took another
