In Oreville Mr. Pettigrew was so well known that nearly everyone called him by his first name.  Mr. Pettigrew did not care about this as he had no false pride or artificial dignity.

“Do you consider this hotel a good property, Mr. Bailey?”

“I’ll tell you this much.  I started here four years ago, and I’ve made fifty thousand dollars which I shall take back with me to New Hampshire.”

“That certainly is satisfactory.”

“I shouldn’t wonder if you could improve upon it.”

“How does it happen that you sell out such a valuable property, Mr. Bailey?  Are you tired of making money?”

“No, but I must tell you that there’s a girl waiting for me at home, an old schoolmate, who will become Mrs. Bailey as soon as possible after I get back.  If she would come out here I wouldn’t sell, but she has a mother that she wouldn’t leave, and so I must go to her.”

“That is a good reason, Mr. Bailey.”

“Besides with fifty thousand dollars I can live as well as I want to in New Hampshire, and hold up my head with the best.  You will follow my example some day.”

“It will be a long day first, Mr. Bailey, for I am only sixteen.”

On Monday morning the old landlord started for his Eastern home and Rodney took his place.  It took him some little time to become familiar with all the details of hotel management, but he spared no pains to insure success.  He had some trouble at first with the cook who presumed upon his position and Rodney’s supposed ignorance to run things as he chose.

Rodney complained to Mr. Pettigrew.

“I think I can fix things, Rodney,” he said.  “There’s a man working for me who used to be cook in a restaurant in New York.  I found out about him quietly, for I wanted to be prepared for emergencies.  The next time Gordon act contrary and threatens to leave, tell him he can do as he pleases.  Then report to me.”

The next day there came another conflict of authority.

“If you don’t like the way I manage you can get somebody else,” said the cook triumphantly.  “Perhaps you’d like to cook the dinner yourself.  You’re nothing but a boy, and I don’t see what Jefferson was thinking of to put you in charge.”

“That is his business, Mr. Gordon.”

“I advise you not to interfere with me, for I won’t stand it.”

“Why didn’t you talk in this way to Mr. Bailey?”

“That’s neither here nor there.  He wasn’t a boy for one thing.”

“Then you propose to have your own way, Mr. Gordon?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Very well, then you can leave me at the end of this week.”

“What!” exclaimed the cook in profound astonishment.  “Are you going crazy?”

“No, I know what I am about.”

“Perhaps you intend to cook yourself.”

“No, I don’t.  That would close up the hotel.”

“Look here, young feller, you’re gettin’ too independent!  I’ve a great mind to leave you tonight.”