Stanley mused a moment, mentally dividing sixteen dollars and fifty cents by three, and then nodded. “All right,” he agreed. “Guess that’ll have to do.”
“Front! Show the gentlemen to 87!”
“Say,” broke in Jimmy with very evident anxiety, “that includes meals, doesn’t it?”
This time the clerk smiled quite humanly. “Certainly,” he replied. “We are on the American Plan.”
“Idiot!” breathed Stanley as they turned away.
“That’s all right,” replied Jimmy doggedly. “It’s just as well to be sure. Look at the time they held us up for seven dollars apiece and then we found we had to pay extra to eat!”
“That was in a city, you chump,” reminded Stanley. They bade the boy with the luggage wait a minute, but Harley McLeod came hurrying in just then and they began the ascent of the stairs. Harley showed a wrathful countenance.
“Those robbers want three dollars for the car!” he sputtered.
“Three dollars for the car?” echoed Jimmy. “Let ’em have it, I say. It’s worth five, maybe, but three dollars is three dollars, and the room’s costing us sixteen-fifty—”