“With a bath?”
“Sure.”
I took three dollars out of my pocket and slid it across the counter. He smacked his palm down on a bell and called out, “Front!”
The boy walked out of the elevator. The clerk handed him a key and said to me, “You’ll have to register, Mr. — er—”
“Smith,” I said. “John Smith. You write it. I’m going to sleep.”
The boy saw I had no baggage and was giving me the fishy eye. I tossed him a quarter and said, “Snap out of it, son, and smile.”
He showed his teeth in a grin and took me up. “Work all night?” I asked him.
“Nope. I quit at eleven.”
“How about the elevator?”
“Goes on automatic.”