pets
upstanding for a pretense of well-being. Behind them, nothing at all!

In the confusion of that which I took to be the main street because of the
stores and piles of goods and the medley of signs, what with the hubbub
from the many barkers for saloons and gambling games, the constant dodging
among the pedestrians, vehicles and horses and dogs, in a thoroughfare
that was innocent of sidewalk, I really had scant opportunity to gaze;
certainly no opportunity as yet to get my bearings. My squat guide
shuttled aside; a group of loafers gave us passage, with sundry stares at
me and quips for him; and I was ushered into a widely-open tent-building
whose canvas sign depending above a narrow veranda declared: "The Queen
Hotel. Beds $3. Meals $1 each."

Now as whitely powdered as any of the natives I stumbled across a single
large room bordered at one side by a bar and a number of small tables (all
well patronized), and was brought up at the counter, under the alert eyes
of a clerk coatless, silk-shirted, diamond-scarfed, pomaded and
slick-haired, waiting with register turned and pen extended.

My gnome heavily dropped my bag.

"Gent for you," he presented.

"I wish a room and bath," I said, as I signed.

"Bath is occupied. I'll put you down, Mr.----" and he glanced at the
signature. "Four dollars and four bits, please. Show the gentleman to
Number Six, Shorty. That drummer's gone, isn't he?"

"You bet."

"The bath is occupied?" I expostulated. "How so? I wish a private bath."

"Private? Yes, sir. All you've got to do is to close the door while you're
in. Nobody'll disturb you. But there are parties ahead of you. First come,
first served."

I persisted.

"Your runner--this gentleman, if I am not mistaken (and I indicated the
gnome, who grinned from dusty face), distinctly said 'A bath for every
room.'"

Bystanders had pushed nearer, to examine the register and then me. They
laughed--nudged one another. Evidently I had a trace of green in my eye.

"Quite right, sir," the clerk assented. "So there is. A bath for every
room and the best bath in town. Entirely private; fresh towel supplied.
Only one dollar and four bits. That, with lodging, makes four dollars and
a half. If you please, sir."

"In advance?" I remonstrated--the bath charge alone being monstrous.

"I see you're from the East. Yes, sir; we have to charge transients in
advance. That is the rule, sir. You stay in Benton City for some time?"

"I am