"HOTEL IROQUOIS, 3035 Michigan avenue."
And then Mrs. Schwartz departed.
When the girl's brother arrived at home an hour or so later he found a sister bounding with joy, bubbling with excess of spirits.
The brother was a man of the world. He knew, as a cosmopolitan must know, of the guile and trickery and fraud and deceit that a great city contains. Yet, when the girl told him the story of the California widow and her desire to hire a traveling companion at an enormous salary, he doubted it not. His spirits were equally as high as his little sister's when he dressed for the trip to the Iroquois hotel. It was a smiling young couple that tripped into the lobby of the hotel an hour or so later and asked the clerk to notify Mrs. Schwartz that her guests were awaiting her pleasure.
"Schwartz?" said the clerk, as he glanced over the room book a second time. "No such person of that name here. Sure you got the name right?"
The girl produced the slip of paper in the widow's own handwriting:
"Margaret Schwartz,
Iroquois hotel, 3035 Michigan avenue."
"Maybe we've transcribed the name wrong from the register," said the clerk. "Where is she from?"
"Los Angeles, California," said the girl.