"It is the height of the season, sir, and——"
"Why, Dr. Jeremy!" exclaimed the youthful voice of Netta Gryseworth, who was passing through the hall with her grandmother. "How do you do, sir? Are Miss Graham and Miss Flint with you? Have you come to stay?"
Before the doctor could answer her questions and pay his respects to Madam Gryseworth, a venerable old lady whom he had known for thirty years, the landlord of the hotel accosted him. "Dr. Jeremy?" said he. "Excuse me, I did not know you. Dr. Jeremy, of Boston?"
"The same," said the doctor, bowing.
"Ah, we are all right, then. Your rooms are reserved, and will be made ready in a few minutes; they were vacated two days ago, and have not been occupied since."
"What is all this?" exclaimed the honest doctor. "I engaged no rooms."
"A friend did it for you, then, sir; a fortunate circumstance, especially as you have ladies with you. Saratoga is very crowded at this season; there were seven thousand strangers in the town yesterday."
The doctor thanked his unknown friend, and summoned the ladies to enjoy their good fortune.
"Why, now, ain't we lucky?" said Mrs. Jeremy, as she glanced around the comfortable room allotted to herself, and then she took a survey of Emily's and Gertrude's apartment.
The doctor, having attended to the baggage, approached the door and heard his wife's last remark, and entering with his finger on his lip, exclaimed, in a low voice, "Hush! hush! don't say too much about it! We are profiting by a glorious mistake on the part of our good landlord. These rooms were engaged for somebody, that's certain, but not for us. However, they can't do no more than turn us out when the right folks come, and until then we have a prospect of very good lodgings."