"There's nothing to settle. Mr. Bradner paid me this morning for his board up to the end of the week."
Mr. Wakely looked relieved at this, but said nothing.
The clerk, not exactly liking what was going on, but being unable to interpose any objections, rung for a cab. Then, under orders from Mr. Wakely, Roy's baggage was brought down and put into the vehicle.
A little later Roy's new acquaintance came down in the elevator, supporting the lad with an arm around his shoulders. Roy could hardly walk, for his legs were trembling, and there was a curious white, dazed look on his face.
"What's the matter, old chap?" asked the hotel clerk, with ready sympathy. "Can I do anything for you?"
It seemed as if Roy tried to speak, but only a murmur came from his lips.
"He'll be all right in a little while," said Mr. Wakely quickly. "He's a little faint; that's all. I'll look after him."
Somehow the clerk thought Mr. Wakely acted as if he did not want any one to come too near Roy, or lend any aid. A little later, leading the boy, who seemed to become weaker, Mr. Wakely got into the cab with him, and drove on.
"Poor fellow," said the clerk sympathetically. "I hope he gets better. He certainly is a nice chap, and I wonder what could have made him ill so suddenly? I don't like that Wakely fellow."
That evening it occurred to Mortimer De Royster that he had not seen his friend Roy for some time. Not, in fact, since he had parted with him at the hotel.