"Well," replied Smith, somewhat nettled, "you can make up your mind she has wide experience."
"I should say so. With trunks and relatives waiting for her like open dates all over the country in most of the big cities, I guess Gotown won't scare her. There is one point, however, I can put you wise on—she will leave no trunk behind her in Gotown."
"You never can tell in advance, Handy; you were always optimistic. Why can't she, if she has a fad in that direction?"
"Simply, my friend, because there ain't a hotel in the place, that's why."
"What!" cried Smith, in amazement, "no liquor stores in Gotown?"
"I didn't say that. I said there were no hotels."
"What's the difference? Don't you know there are no saloons in New York now? They are all hotels. The law is strict on that score, and if Gotown is regulated on the same plan and there are no hotels, I'm beginning to have my doubts. Say, old man, this is no prohibition colony you're steering us up against, eh?"
Handy looked at Smith in mild surprise and without moving a muscle of his face; but there was a quiet meaning in his eye that spoke more forcibly than mere words. At length he broke the silence.
"Smith, I'm afraid you are not well. Get thee to bed. Rest your altogether too active brain. The Pennsylvania air is a little too much for you. I can get along without further assistance. Good-night! See me in the morning."