"Hinks?" echoed the smart clerk in the office. "Mean Enos B. Hinks as used to own this hotel?"
"Used to own it!"
"Yes. You're strangers, I reckon. Enos B. sold out last summer. Hiram J. Crundall's now the proprietor of the Palmetto Beach."
The two boys stared with blank faces. Terry was the first to recover himself. "D'ye think Mr. Crundall would see us?" he asked sweetly.
Terry's soft Irish voice was irresistible. "I wouldn't wonder, gentlemen. I'll ask him. Step inside the office."
A great, burly man with scrubby black hair and a long, black cigar between his hard lips came into the office.
"Want rooms, gents?" he asked abruptly.
"Not rooms—work," replied Arnold.
The big man looked them over.