"John Davenport."
"Where does he hail from?"
"Kansas City."
"Probably he is all right," thought our hero, "though I don't quite like the idea of rooming with a complete stranger. Well, I will take the room."
It was about the middle of the afternoon. Paul deposited his carpet-bag in the room, but what articles of value he had he left for safe keeping in the office of the hotel, as prudent travelers generally do, at any rate when they find themselves paired off with strangers.
Deferring his business to the next day, Paul took a walk about the streets and made himself familiar with the outward appearance of a city which has become one of the most important on the transcontinental route. He admired the new high-school building, built on the site of the old capitol, with its spire rising nearly two hundred feet above the street, the elegant private dwellings on the hill, and perhaps more than all, the huge railroad bridge that spans the Missouri River. Everywhere he marked signs of prosperity and enterprise, and he felt that it must be inspiring to live where growth is so rapid.
He used his time well, and went back to the hotel to supper.
About nine o'clock, feeling fatigued with his journey, he decided to go up stairs to bed, so as to feel quite refreshed the next day.
The room was empty, his roommate, Mr. Davenport, of Kansas City, not having arrived.
Paul undressed and got into bed. How long he had slept he did not know, but he woke all at once, and from his bed looked on a sight which instantly awakened him thoroughly.