Part 23 (1/2)
”That looks as if it might suit my purse,” thought Tom.
He walked in, and, approaching the desk, inquired: ”How much do you charge at this hotel?”
”A dollar a day,” answered the clerk. ”Will you have a room?”
”Yes, sir.”
”Please register your name.” Tom did so.
”Cato,” called the clerk--summoning a colored boy, about Tom's size--”take this young man to No. 18.”
”All right, sar,” said Cato, showing his ivories.
”When do you have dinner?” asked Tom.
”One o'clock.”
Preceded by Cato, Tom walked up-stairs, and was ushered into a small, dingy room on the second floor. There was a single window, looking through dingy panes upon a back yard. There was a general air of cheerlessness and discomfort, but at any rate it was larger than the stateroom on the _River Belle_.
”Is this the best room you have?” asked Tom, not very favorably impressed.
”Oh, no, sar,” answered Cato. ”If your wife was with you, sar, we'd give you a scrumptious room, 'bout twice as big.”
”I didn't bring my wife along, Cato,” said Tom, amused. ”Are you married?”
”Not yet, sar,” answered his colored guide, with a grin.
”I think we can wait till we are a little older.”
”Reckon so, sar.”
”Just bring up a little water, Cato. I feel in need of was.h.i.+ng.”
”Dirt don't show on me,” said Cato, with a guffaw.
”I suppose you do wash, now and then, don't you?”
”Yes, sar, sometimes,” answered Cato equivocally.
When Tom had completed his toilet he found that it was but ten o'clock.
He accordingly went down-stairs, intending to see a little of the city before dinner.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE EVENTS OF A MORNING.
Graham and Vincent had kept quiet during the latter part of the voyage.