"I didn't stay awake to see."
"You are a model traveler! Now we must plan something pleasant for you to do to-day. I am not sure that we can keep up the pace yesterday set us, for it was a pretty thrilling one. Robberies and arrests do not come every day, to say nothing of flotillas of ships and Wild West shows. However, we will do the best we can not to let the day go stale by contrast. But first I must dictate a few letters and glance over the morning paper. This won't take me long and while I am doing it I would suggest that you go into the writing room and send a letter to your mother. I will join you there in half an hour and we will do whatever you like before I go to my meeting. How is that?"
"Righto!"
Accordingly, after breakfast was finished, Steve wandered off by himself in search of paper and ink, and so sumptuous did he find the writing appointments that he not only dashed off a letter to his mother recounting some of the happenings of the previous day, but on discovering a rack of post cards he mailed to Jack Curtis, Tim Barclay, Bud Taylor and some of the other boys patronizing messages informing them that New York was "great" and he was sorry they were not there. In fact, it seemed at the moment that all those unfortunate persons who could not visit this magic city were to be profoundly pitied.
In the purchase of stamps for these egoistic missives the remainder of the time passed, and before he realized the half-hour was gone, he saw his father standing in the doorway.
"I am going up to the room now to hunt up some cigars, Steve," announced the elder man. "Do you want to come along or stay here?"
"I'll come with you, Dad," was the quick reply.
The elevator shot them to the ninth floor in no time and soon they were in their room looking down on the turmoil in the street below.
"Some city, isn't it?" commented Mr. Tolman, turning away from the busy scene to rummage through his suit case.
"It's a corker!"