Just as I asked if he could perhaps tell me which of the hotels was least bad, a fellow drummer joined him. The usual expression of commiseration followed.
“Well,” said the second drummer, “it’s this way. Whichever hotel you put up at, you’ll wish you had put up at the other.”
“Suppose it turns out to be the very worst we can think of—what can that worst be?” I asked rather shakily of Celia.
“Dirty rooms over a saloon with drunken ‘bad men’ shooting in it,” she whispered with a shiver.
“Don’t you think—” we suggested to E. M., “it would be a good idea to buy a pistol, in case——”
“In case——?” he asked with the completely indifferent tranquillity of youth.
Celia prodded me. “Well, just in case——” I said lamely. I think Celia might have finished the sentence herself.
Of all the bogey stories, the one about North Platte is the most unfounded! Instead of a rip-roaring town, rioting in red and yellow ribaldry, it is a serious railroad thoroughfare, self-respecting and above reproach and the home of no less a celebrity than Mr. Cody—Buffalo Bill. Of course if you imagine you are going to find a Blackstone or a Fontanelle, you will be disappointed, but in comparison to some of the other hotels along the Lincoln Highway, the Union Pacific in North Platte is a model of delectability!
A Bedroom in the Union Pacific Hotel, North Platte—Not Much of a Hardship, Is It?