[CHAPTER XXIV.
A ROOM AT THE ALBEMARLE HOTEL.]
The stranger was tall and well formed. He had certainly showed moral weakness in yielding to the fascinations of drink, but he looked like a smart man of business.
“Wait a minute,” he said, “and I will talk to you.”
He went to a stationary washtub, and bathed his head freely.
“There,” he said, after he had rubbed his face vigorously with a towel. “I feel fifty per cent better. There is nothing like cold water after all.”
“Inside as well as outside,” added Paul, with a smile.
“That’s where you are right, my boy. Evidently your head is level. You say you are a telegraph boy?”
“Yes sir.”
“How do you like it?”
“Fairly well—for the present.”