The reply of the young man was merely a brief mention of the place of torment.
“It is hot,” said the clerk blandly. “In from Cleveland?”
“Yes. Any letters for me?”
“Couple of telegrams. You’ll find them up in 85.”
“Oh, you were cocksure I’d take that room?”
“I was cocksure you’d have to. It is that or the fifth floor. We’re full. Couldn’t give a better room to the President if he came.”
“Oh, well, what’s good enough for the President I can put up with for a couple of days.”
The hand of the clerk descended on the bell. The negro sprang forward and took the “grip.”
“Eighty-five,” said the clerk; and the drummer and the Negro disappeared.
“Is there any place where I could leave my bag for a while?” the professor at last said timidly to the clerk.