As soon as the boat was made fast to the levee the two boys went ashore, and George led the way to a hotel, which was much frequented by steamboat men. He seemed to be well acquainted there, for he had scarcely entered the door before he was surrounded by pilots and engineers, who were eager to hear more about the burning of the Kendall than the newspapers had been able to tell them. George talked until he was tired, and then he and Bob signed their names to the register, and went in to dinner. When they had disappeared through the door of the dining-room, a man who had followed them unnoticed from the steamboat-landing to the hotel, and who had taken care to keep in the back-ground while George was talking with his friends, stepped up to the desk, looked at the register, and turned and went out.
Having disposed of a good dinner, the boys left the hotel, intent on seeing as much of the city as they could in one short afternoon. They intended to remain in New Orleans that night, and take the steamer which sailed for Galveston the next evening. They roamed through the streets until dark, George pointing out to his country friend all the objects of interest they passed, and, after purchasing a few necessary articles of clothing (which required the outlay of ten dollars more of David Evans’s money), they returned to the hotel. When they wanted to go to bed Bob placed his money in the hands of the clerk, and was shown to a room adjoining the one his friend George was to occupy. He went to sleep, thinking of the folks at home, and bemoaning the folly of which he had been guilty in leaving them, and, about midnight, was awakened by a rapping at his door—a whispered rapping, so to speak, as if the person who was outside wanted to arouse him and no one else. Bob started up in some alarm, and, when the sound was repeated, called out:
“Who’s there?”
“Watchman, sar,” replied the person outside.
“What do you want?”
“I’se got a letter for you, sar.”
“A what?”
“A letter what a gemman gave me to give you, sar.”
“A letter!” thought Bob. “Who in the world can be writing to me? It isn’t George, of course, for he knows that I am in the room next to his own. It can’t be that——great Moses!”
Bob was frightened by something that just then occurred to him. Could it be possible that his father had learned of his whereabouts, and that he had come to the city by rail to intercept him and take him home again? Bob trembled all over, as he asked himself the question, and recalled the fact that David Evans’s money was fifteen dollars short. As he could see no other way out of the difficulty, he resolved that he would not receive the letter at all. He would wait until the watchman went down stairs, and then he would put on his clothes, and leave the hotel with all possible haste. He lay down again, and, as he drew the quilts over him, exclaimed: