“Of course, yes.  The jolly old hotel.  I’m coming to that.  Well, it was like this.  A chappie on the boat told me that this was the best place to stop at in New York—­”

“He was quite right,” said Mr. Brewster.

“Was he, by Jove!  Well, all I can say, then, is that the other New York hotels must be pretty mouldy, if this is the best of the lot!  I took a room here last night,” said Archie quivering with self-pity, “and there was a beastly tap outside somewhere which went drip-drip-drip all night and kept me awake.”

Mr. Brewster’s annoyance deepened.  He felt that a chink had been found in his armour.  Not even the most paternal hotel-proprietor can keep an eye on every tap in his establishment.

“Drip-drip-drip!” repeated Archie firmly.  “And I put my boots outside the door when I went to bed, and this morning they hadn’t been touched.  I give you my solemn word!  Not touched.”

“Naturally,” said Mr. Brewster.  “My employes are honest”

“But I wanted them cleaned, dash it!”

“There is a shoe-shining parlour in the basement.  At the Cosmopolis shoes left outside bedroom doors are not cleaned.”

“Then I think the Cosmopolis is a bally rotten hotel!”

Mr. Brewster’s compact frame quivered.  The unforgivable insult had been offered.  Question the legitimacy of Mr. Brewster’s parentage, knock Mr. Brewster down and walk on his face with spiked shoes, and you did not irremediably close all avenues to a peaceful settlement.  But make a remark like that about his hotel, and war was definitely declared.

“In that case,” he said, stiffening, “I must ask you to give up your room.”

“I’m going to give it up!  I wouldn’t stay in the bally place another minute.”

Mr. Brewster walked away, and Archie charged round to the cashier’s desk to get his bill.  It had been his intention in any case, though for dramatic purposes he concealed it from his adversary, to leave the hotel that morning.  One of the letters of introduction which he had brought over from England had resulted in an invitation from a Mrs. van Tuyl to her house-party at Miami, and he had decided to go there at once.

“Well,” mused Archie, on his way to the station, “one thing’s certain.  I’ll never set foot in that bally place again!”

But nothing in this world is certain.

CHAPTER II

A SHOCK FOR MR. BREWSTER

Mr. Daniel Brewster sat in his luxurious suite at the Cosmopolis, smoking one of his admirable cigars and chatting with his old friend, Professor Binstead.  A stranger who had only encountered Mr. Brewster in the lobby of the hotel would have been surprised at the appearance of his sitting-room, for it had none of the rugged simplicity which was the keynote of its owner’s personal appearance.  Daniel Brewster was a man with a hobby, He was what Parker,