He sat back in his chair and unfolded his napkin with an air of much satisfaction.
“Looks like you got a rake off from the management,” the Texan grinned.
“Aren’t you the real clever thing to guess it,” returned Tucker. “How else do you suppose I make expenses? These hotel proprietors are only too glad to give a little bonus to a good-looking chap like me. Gives tone to the establishment, you know.”
Merriwell gave his order and then, sitting back, glanced casually around the room. It was well-filled with the usual crowd of business men, among whom were a few ladies in light summer dresses, and a pleasant air of refinement pervaded the establishment.
Presently Dick noticed a party of three young fellows who were lunching at a table in the centre of the room. One of them faced him—a pleasant-looking, well set up man of about twenty-two, with clean-cut features and curly, brown hair; and, as the Yale man glanced at him, he hastily averted his eyes as if he had been staring.
“I suppose there isn’t any chance of going through the mine this afternoon,” Dick remarked, turning back to his friends. “Clingwood said the morning was the best time. We can put in the rest of the day looking the town over, and after dinner I’ll hunt up the superintendent, Orren Fairchilds, and give him that card of introduction.”
“I think I’ll take a rest,” yawned Bigelow. “The roads were awful this morning. I’m black and blue all over from being jounced around.”
“Hear him talk!” jeered Tucker. “He’s so packed with blubber, you’d have to jab something into him a good two inches before he could feel it.”
Dick glanced over at the other table again and met the curly haired fellow’s eyes fixed squarely on him. One of his companions had half turned and was also regarding the Yale man intently.
“They’re certainly going to know me the next time they see me,” he thought. “I wonder if I have ever met them before.”