“Do I register?” asked Ned, hoping that he would not have to put down another false name.
“Register nothin’,” the clerk replied. “They go by numbers here. Yours is seventeen,” and Ned, looking at the tag on his key, saw what the clerk meant.
“I’m glad there’s no thirteen in this,” the boy thought. “How do I get to my room?” he asked.
“Right along the corridor. You can’t miss it. Go on until you strike the right number and go in. Do you snore?”
“No. Why?”
“Because there is a man in the next room to you who says he’ll punch my face in, if I put any one near him who snores. It’s all right. Go ahead. If you want a bath it’s the last room at the end of the hall, but you have to furnish your own soap and towels.”
“That settles the bath question,” thought Ned; “that is unless I dry myself on a pocket handkerchief, and I guess I’d better save that.”
“Lock your door,” the clerk called after him. “We’re not responsible for anything stolen from the rooms.”
Ned had not expected much for twenty-five cents, and the small room, the little narrow iron cot, and the scanty supply of coverings did not disappoint him. The room was merely separated from the others, in the row of which it was, by partitions that did not extend all the way to the ceiling. Ned sat down on the chair and gazed about him. He could hear men in the next rooms breathing heavily. It was rather chilly for there was no fire in the bedrooms.
“I can use my overcoat for a blanket,” Ned inadvertently spoke aloud. The next moment a voice, from the room on his left startled him.