"Never mind, then. I guess my private carriage is outside."
Tom, of course, knew nothing of Cincinnati; but, picking out a man with a carpet-bag, whose dress indicated limited means, he followed him.
"He won't stop at any of the tip-top hotels," thought our hero. "I can't afford to go first-class any more; my pocket-book ain't so full as it was."
He followed his unconscious guide nearly a mile. The latter finally stopped before a small, third-class hotel, which bore the name Ohio House. After a slight pause he entered, and Tom followed him. After the man had registered his name, Tom went up to the desk.
"What do you charge?" he asked.
"Two dollars a day."
"Is that the lowest price?"
"Where a party stays a week, it's ten dollars," was the reply.
"All right," said our hero.
"Will you register your name?"