They were returning to the hotel at which they had registered for the night when suddenly Tom caught his brothers by the arm.
"Well, I never!" he gasped. "What do you think of that?"
They saw he was gazing across the way, and looking in the direction saw an elegant hotel, over the broad doorway of which was stretched the sign:
WESTERN PALACE
GEORGE LAVELLE, Proprietor.
Established 1871.
"By jinks! That Bradner deceived us!" gasped Dick. "This must be the hotel father mentioned."
"But what about Jack Wumble?" began Sam. "He was registered at the other place."
"Did you see the register?" demanded Dick.
"No, but—"
"We'll soon learn the truth," went on the elder Rover. "Come on." And he made his way through the mass of moving wagons and trucks to the opposite side of the thoroughfare.
All entered the broad hallway together. The floor was of marble, and big mirrors lined every wall. Certainly the place was in sharp contrast to that known as the "Palace of the West."