"Yes—Pittsburg House. Know Pittsburg House?"
"Yes, sir. I am staying there myself. Shall I lead you there? You'd better not drink any more."
"Jus' you say, my young frien'. You know best."
It was not a pleasant, or, indeed, an easy task to lead home the inebriate, for he leaned heavily on Tom, and, being a large man, it was as much as our hero could do to get him along. As they were walking along Tom caught sight of his roommate, Milton Graham, just turning into a saloon, in company with two other young men. They were laughing loudly, and seemed in high spirits. Graham did not recognize Tom.
"I hope he won't come home drunk," thought our hero. "It seems to me it is fashionable to drink here."
Tom's experience of city life was very limited. It was not long before he learned that Pittsburg was by no means exceptional in this respect.
He ushered his companion safely into the hotel, and then a servant took charge of him, and led him to his room. Tom sat up a little while longer, reading a paper he found in the office, and then went to bed.
"I suppose Mr. Graham will come home late," he said to himself. "I must leave the door unlocked."
He soon went to sleep. How long he slept he did not know, but suddenly awoke after an interval. Opening his eyes he became conscious that Graham had returned. He discovered something more. His roommate, partially undressed, and with his back turned to Tom, was engaged in searching our hero's pockets. This discovery set Tom broad awake at once. He was not frightened, but rather amused when he thought of Graham's disappointment. He did not think it best to speak, but counterfeited sleep.
"I wonder where the boy keeps his money," he heard Graham mutter. "Perhaps it is in his coat pocket. No, there is nothing but a handkerchief. He's more careful than I gave him credit for. Perhaps it is under his pillow."