He removed the pipe, brushed
his long moustache with the back of a bony hand, and bowed slowly and
with grave ceremony to the arrival.
An open door to the right of the stairway gave entrance to a room from
which came the sound of a deep, sonorous voice, employed in what
turned out to be a conversational solo. To the left another door led
to what was evidently the dining-room. The glance that the stranger
sent in that direction revealed two or three tables, covered with
white cloths.
"Can you put me up for the night?" he inquired, advancing to the
counter.
"You look like a feller who'd want a room with bath," drawled the man
behind the counter, surveying the applicant from head to foot. "Which
we ain't got," he added.
"I'll be satisfied to have a room with a bed," said the other.
"Sign here," was the laconic response. He went to the trouble of
actually putting his finger on the line where the guest was expected
to write his name.
"Can I have supper?"
"Food for man and beast," said the other patiently. He slapped his
palm upon a cracked call-bell, and then looked at the fresh name on
the page. "Thomas K. Barnes, New York," he read aloud. He eyed the
newcomer once more.
Pages:
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29