"We are bound for the hotel now. We will come in later."
"Glad to see you," and as they left the shopkeeper waved them a pleasant adieu with his hand. But he never stirred from his chair.
"I guess he has grown tired of trying to sell goods," observed
Tom.
"Perhaps he knows that if folks want the things he has to sell they are bound to come to him," said Dick. "His store seems to be the only one of its sort around."
The hotel for which they were bound was several squares away, located in something of a park, with pretty flowers and a fountain. It was a two-story affair, with spacious verandas and large rooms, and frequented mostly by English and French people.
They had just entered the office; and Randolph Rover was writing his name in the register, when Dick caught sight of somebody in the reading room that nearly took away his breath.
"Well, I never!"
"What is it, Dick?" asked Tom quickly.
"Look at that boy reading a newspaper. It is Dan Baxter—Dan
Baxter, just as sure as you are born!"