“Which means that M. Sandrek, through his rent gatherer, has ordered me from this hotel,” said Gilbert bitterly. “Very well, I will go and at once. How much is my bill?”
The hotel proprietor consulted his books. “Sixteen rubles and twenty-five kopecks,” he said. “But you will dine first, yes?”
“No, I’ll take my orders and go instantly,” returned Gilbert grimly. His temper was beginning to rise, and he controlled himself with difficulty.
“I am powerless, Mr. Pennington. If I went against the order——”
“Oh, I can understand your situation,” answered the young American, and continued with sarcasm: “I don’t expect every Russian to have a backbone of his own.”
“We have all the backbone we need!” cried the hotel man, and swept into his cash drawer the money Gilbert threw on the counter. “What about your luggage?”
“I will take the bag, and send for the trunk later.”
Once on the street Gilbert did not know which way to turn. There was another hotel close by, but the accommodations there were very poor. A third hotel was several squares away. He determined to try this and hurried in its direction.
“Have you just arrived in the city?” was the first question put.
“No, I have been stopping here for some time,” and the young American passed over his card.