CHAPTER VIII.

A NIGHT IN NEW YORK.

From the Battery, Oliver made his way back to Wall Street. He was in hopes of seeing Colonel Mendix again, and for this reason passed and repassed Ezra Dodge’s office several times.

But his watching was fruitless, and finally by five o’clock he gave up. By this time the financial center was almost deserted, and he saw Ezra Dodge’s clerk close the office up for the day, and walk away.

Instantly he decided to follow and accost the young man, and this he did before he had formed any clear plan of action.

“Excuse me,” he said; “but I think I saw you down in Mr. Dodge’s office.”

“You did,” replied the clerk wonderingly.

“Wasn’t Colonel Mendix there?”

“Yes, he was; this morning.”

“Can you tell me where he is stopping?”

“At the Gilliford House.”

“The Gilliford House?”

“Yes. It is on Broadway near Sixth Avenue. Did you want to see him?”

“I did. Do you suppose he is there now?”

“I don’t know. He intends to start for California soon.”

“So I understand. He has a mine there, I believe.”

“Yes.” The clerk hesitated. “I don’t know much about Colonel Mendix,” he continued.

“Does he live here?”

“Oh, no; he comes from Sacramento City.”

“Thank you. And you think he is up at the Gilliford House?”

“He is if he hasn’t left for the West yet.”

“Did he speak of leaving so soon?”

“I heard him tell Mr. Dodge he might take the train for St. Louis to-day.”

The clerk nodded and then boarded a Broadway car. Oliver stood on the pavement in wonder.

“Might take the train for St. Louis to-day!” he murmured; “and I thought all the while that he intended to stay in New York for some time at least! If he has gone he will have a full day’s start of me, to say nothing of the difference in the trip overland and the one by the way of the isthmus. I wish I was going by train instead.”

After a moment’s reflection, he resolved to go at once to the Gilliford House and see if the colonel had yet departed. If he had, then there was nothing to do but wait for the steamer on Wednesday.

On the corner was a policeman, and the officer quickly directed the boy to the proper elevated road by which he could reach the hotel mentioned. Oliver climbed the steps, procured his ticket, dropped it into the box, and a moment later was aboard the train.

Though he had been to New York a number of times, the ride in the air as it were was somewhat of a novelty to him. He sat in one of the little cross seats in the middle of the car, and thoroughly enjoyed the panorama that swept by――a panorama that was so close to him that he could note every detail.

At length Thirty-third Street was reached. Here Oliver left the train, went down the long stairs, and inquired his way to the Gilliford House.

It was not a long distance off, and in five minutes more he had entered the office.

“Is Colonel Mendix stopping here?” he asked of the clerk at the desk.

The young man looked at the register.

“Yes, sir. Wish to see him?”

Oliver hesitated for a moment.

“Yes, sir.”

“I will send up your card.”

“I――I―― He would not know me,” stammered Oliver. “Cannot you say that a young man wishes to see him?”

“Certainly. Just wait a moment. I’ll send right up.”

Oliver took a seat and waited. The bell-boy was gone probably five minutes.

“Colonel Mendix is out,” were the clerk’s words upon his return.

“Have you any idea when he will be back?” asked Oliver, somewhat disappointed, and yet relieved to think he would not have to face the man just then, when he was hardly prepared.

“No, sir.”

Oliver stood for a moment in thought. He would have to remain in New York over that night and the next. Why not stay where he was?

“Can I engage a room here for to-morrow night and to-night?” he asked.

“Certainly. What kind of a room do you desire?”

“Not too high priced.”

“European or American plan?” was the clerk’s question, meaning thereby, as many of my readers know, if he wished it without or including meals.

“European.”

“From one to three dollars.”

“I will take the dollar room, sir.”

“Very well. Pay in advance.”

“I will pay for to-night. If I stay to-morrow I will pay that in the morning.”

Oliver paid the money. He did not wish to arrange for meals at the hotel, for he did not know where he would be during the following day.

“John, show this gentleman to room 234.”

“And if Colonel Mendix comes in, will you let me know?”

“I will if I see him.”

Taking Oliver’s valise, the porter led the way to the elevator, and they were raised to the fifth floor. Number 234 proved to be a cozy room at the rear of the hall. It was well furnished, with all conveniences, even to the pens and ink that stood on a side table.

Throwing off his coat, vest, and hat, the boy took a good wash in the marble bowl and combed his hair. This refreshed him and made his head feel better. Then locking up the room so that his baggage would be safe, he went below to a neighboring restaurant, and procured a light supper.

The sight of the pens and ink in his room made him think of writing a letter to his father, and he spent the best part of the evening doing so. He told of all that had happened, and begged his father not to be angry at his having taken the matter in hand.

The letter finished, Oliver went out and posted it. Upon returning he asked about Colonel Mendix, and was told the gentleman had not yet come back.

At ten o’clock Oliver retired. He was quite worn out, but the strangeness of his situation caused him to sleep but little. At seven o’clock he was dressed and at the desk.

“Colonel Mendix has sent word that his baggage be taken to the depot,” said the clerk. “He took the train last night for the West.”