"We go underground to the station," Bill Gregg explained. He was
a little startled himself, but his reading had fortified him to a
certain extent.

"But is there still some more of New York?" asked Ronicky humbly.

"More? We ain't seen a corner of it!" Bill's superior information made
him swell like a frog in the sun. "This is kinder near One Hundredth
Street where we dived down. New York keeps right on to First Street,
and then it has a lot more streets below that. But that's just the
Island of Manhattan. All around there's a lot more. Manhattan is
mostly where they work. They live other places."

It was not very long before the train slowed down to make Grand
Central Station. On the long platform Ronicky surrendered his suit
case to the first porter. Bill Gregg was much alarmed. "What'd you do
that for?" he asked, securing a stronger hold on his own valise and
brushing aside two or three red caps.

"He asked me for it," explained Ronicky. "I wasn't none too set on
giving it to him to carry, but I hated to hurt his feelings. Besides,
they're all done up in uniforms. Maybe this is their job."

"But suppose that feller got away out of sight, what would you do?
Your brand-new pair of Colts is lying away in it!"

"He won't get out of sight none," Ronicky assured his friend grimly.
"I got another Colt with me, and, no matter how fast he runs, a
forty-five slug can run a pile faster. But come on, Bill. The word in
this town seems to be to keep right on moving."