"Why, then," thought he, "did Coleman want to borrow five dollars of me?"

If Luke had known more of the world he would have understood that it was only one of the tricks to which men like Coleman resort to obtain a loan, or rather a gift, from an unsuspecting acquaintance.

"I suppose I shall not see my money back," thought Luke. "Well, it will be the last that he will get out of me."

He was already becoming tired of his companion, and doubted whether he would not find the acquaintance an expensive one. He was sorry that they were to share the same room. However, it was for one night only, and to-morrow he was quite resolved to part company.

Shortly after nine o'clock Luke went to bed, and being fatigued with his long journey, was soon asleep. He was still sleeping at twelve o'clock, when Coleman came home.

Coleman came up to his bed and watched him attentively.

"The kid's asleep," he soliloquized. "He's one of the good Sunday-school boys. I can imagine how shocked he would be if he knew that, instead of being a traveler for H. B. Claflin, I have been living by my wits for the last half-dozen years. He seems to be half asleep. I think I can venture to explore a little."

He took Luke's trousers from the chair on which he had laid them, and thrust his fingers into the pockets, but brought forth only a penknife and a few pennies.

"He keeps his money somewhere else, it seems," said Coleman.

Next he turned to the vest, and from the inside vest pocket drew out Luke's modest pocketbook.

"Oh, here we have it," thought Coleman, with a smile. "Cunning boy; he thought n.o.body would think of looking in his vest pocket. Well, let us see how much he has got."

He opened the pocketbook, and frowned with disappointment when he discovered only a two-dollar bill.

"What does it mean? Surely he hasn't come to Chicago with only this paltry sum!" exclaimed Coleman. "He must be more cunning than I thought."

He looked in the coat pockets, the shoes, and even the socks of his young companion, but found nothing, except the silver watch, which Luke had left in one of his vest pockets.

"Confound the boy! He's foiled me this time!" muttered Coleman.

"Shall I take the watch? No; it might expose me, and I could not raise much on it at the p.a.w.nbroker's. He must have left his money with the clerk downstairs. He wouldn't think of it himself, but probably he was advised to do so before he left home. I'll get up early, and see if I can't get in ahead of my young friend."

Coleman did not venture to take the two-dollar bill, as that would have induced suspicion on the part of Luke, and would have interfered with his intention of securing the much larger sum of money, which, as he concluded rightly, was in the safe in the office.

He undressed and got into bed, but not without observation. As he was bending over Luke's clothes, examining them, our hero's eyes suddenly opened, and he saw what was going on. It flashed upon him at once what kind of a companion he had fallen in with, but he had the wisdom and self-control to close his eyes again immediately. He reflected that there was not much that Coleman could take, and if he took the watch he resolved to charge him openly with it. To make a disturbance there and then might be dangerous, as Coleman, who was much stronger than he, might ill-treat and abuse him, without his being able to offer any effectual resistance.

CHAPTER XXVIII

COLEMAN'S LITTLE PLAN

Though Coleman went to bed late, he awoke early. He had the power of awaking at almost any hour that he might fix. He was still quite fatigued, but having an object in view, overcame his tendency to lie longer, and swiftly dressing himself, went downstairs. Luke was still sleeping, and did not awaken while his companion was dressing.

Coleman went downstairs and strolled up to the clerk's desk,

"You're up early," said that official.

"Yes, it's a great nuisance, but I have a little business to attend to with a man who leaves Chicago by an early train. I tried to find him last night, but he had probably gone to some theater. That is what has forced me to get up so early this morning."

"I am always up early," said the clerk.

"Then you are used to it, and don't mind it. It is different with me."

Coleman bought a cigar, and while he was lighting it, remarked, as if incidentally:

"By the way, did my young friend leave my money with you last evening?"

"He left a package of money with me, but he didn't mention it was yours."

"Forgot to, I suppose. I told him to leave it here, as I was going out to the theater, and was afraid I might have my pocket picked.

Smart fellows, those pickpockets. I claim to be rather smart myself, but there are some of them smart enough to get ahead of me.

"I was relieved of my pocketbook containing over two hundred dollars in money once. By Jove! I was mad enough to knock the fellow's head off, if I had caught him."

"It is rather provoking."

"I think I'll trouble you to hand me the money the boy left with you, as I have to use some this morning."

Mr. Coleman spoke in an easy, off-hand way, that might have taken in some persons, but hotel clerks are made smart by their positions.

"I am sorry, Mr. Coleman," said the clerk, "but I can only give it back to the boy."

"I commend your caution, my friend," said Coleman, "but I can a.s.sure you that it's all right. I sent it back by Luke when I was going to the theater, and I meant, of course, to have him give my name with it. However, he is not used to business, and so forgot it."

"When did you hand it to him?" asked the clerk, with newborn suspicion.

"About eight o'clock. No doubt he handed it in as soon as he came back to the hotel."

"How much was there?"

This question posed Mr. Coleman, as he had no idea how much money Luke had with him.

"I can't say exactly," he answered. "I didn't count it. There might have been seventy-five dollars, though perhaps the sum fell a little short of that."

"I can't give you the money, Mr. Coleman," said the clerk, briefly.

"I have no evidence that it is yours."

"Really, that's ludicrous," said Coleman, with a forced laugh. "You don't mean to doubt me, I hope," and Madison Coleman drew himself up haughtily.

"That has nothing to do with it. The rule of this office is to return money only to the person who deposited it with us. If we adopted any other rule, we should get into no end of trouble."

"But, my friend," said Coleman, frowning, "you are putting me to great inconvenience. I must meet my friend in twenty minutes and pay him a part of this money."

"I have nothing to do with that," said the clerk.

"You absolutely refuse, then?"

"I do," answered the clerk, firmly. "However, you can easily overcome the difficulty by bringing the boy down here to authorize me to hand you the money."