yed
frown between his eyes. He laid a protecting hand on his mother's arm.
Emma McChesney was conscious of a little thrill of pride as she realized
that he did not have to look up to meet her gaze.

"Look here, Mother, they tell me there's some sort of a convention here,
and the town's packed. That's what all those banners and things were
for. I hope they've got something decent for us here. I came up with a
man who said he didn't think there was a hole left to sleep in."

"You don't say!" exclaimed Emma McChesney, and turned to the clerk.
"This is my son, Jock McChesney--Mr. Sims. Is this true?"

"Glad to know you, sir," said Mr. Sims. "Why, yes, I'm afraid we are
pretty well filled up, but seeing it's you maybe we can do something for
you."

He ruminated, tapping his teeth with a penholder, and eying the pair
before him with a maddening blankness of gaze. Finally:

"I'll do my best, but you can't expect much. I guess I can squeeze
another cot into eight-seven for the young man. There's--let's see
now--who's in eighty-seven? Well, there's two Bisons in the double bed,
and one in the single, and Fat Ed Meyers in the cot and----"

Emma McChesney stiffened into acute attention. "Meyers?" she
interrupted. "Do you mean Ed Meyers of the Strauss Sans-silk Skirt
Company?"

"That's so. You two are in the same line, aren't you? He's a great
little piano player, Ed is. Ever hear him play?"

"When did he get in?"

"Oh, he just came in fifteen minutes ago on the Ashland division. He's
in at supper."

"Oh," said Emma McChesney. The two letters breathed relief.

But relief had no place in the voice, or on the countenance of Jock
McChesney. He bristled with belligerence. "This cattle-car style of
sleeping don't make a hit. I haven't had a decent night's rest for three
nights. I never could sleep on a sleeper. Can't you fix us up better
than that?"

"Best I can do."

"But where's mother going? I see you advertise 'three large and
commodious steam-heated sample rooms in connection.' I suppose mother's
due to sleep on one of the tables there."

"Jock," Emma McChesney reproved him, "Mr. Sims is doing us a great
favor. There isn't another hotel in town that would----"

"You're right, there isn't," agreed Mr. Sims. "I guess the young man is
new to this traveling game. As I said, I'd like to accommodate you,
but-- Let's see now. Tell you what I'll do. If I can get the housekeeper
to go over and sleep in the maids' quarter