What had been Swiftwater Bill’s fortune in all those months, I knew not, but the fact as stated in the paper that he had returned from Alaska was sufficient for me.
Bera said: “Mama, I don’t know any reason why you should fuss around about Swiftwater.”
“Never mind me,” said I, “I’ll find him, my dear, just to see what he has to say for himself.”
Down to the Hotel Northern, then the Butler, the Rainier-Grand and the Stevens and all the rest I went and searched the registers without avail. As I remember now, it took me the greater part of a day to cover all the ground.
Finally, by a curious chance I located Swiftwater at the Victoria Hotel. I waited until the next morning and then went to the Victoria and asked for Gates.
Swiftwater, the clerk said, was out—had not been seen but once since his arrival.
I am not going to say whether or not it was the humor of the situation or the bitter resentment I bore toward him that led me to tramp up three flights of stairs to the little parlor on the landing close to Swiftwater’s room, and to wait there ten hours at a stretch—until 1:10 in the morning. Then I went home, only to return at 8 o’clock the next day.
“Mr. Gates is in his room, but he is asleep,” said the clerk.
“I am Mrs. Beebe, his mother-in-law, and I want to see him now and I shall go direct to his room. You can go with me if you desire,” said I. The little clerk scanned me carefully and then said, “Very well.” We went upstairs together.