The pair walked into the hotel, and Joe saw them register and pass down the corridor in the company of a bell boy.  Then our hero entered the place.

“Can I get a room here for the night?” he asked of the clerk behind the desk.

“Certainly.”

“What is the charge?”

“Seventy-five cents.”

“That suits me.”

The register was shoved forward and Joe wrote down his name.  Then he was shown to a small room on the third floor.  The building was but four stories high.

Joe was tired and soon went to bed.  In the next room he heard a murmur of voices and made out that the old farmer and his friend were talking earnestly.

“They must be very friendly,” was his comment, and thinking the matter over he fell asleep.

Bright and early in the morning our hero arose, dressed himself, and went below.  He had breakfast in the restaurant attached to the hotel and was just finishing up when the old farmer and the slick-looking individual came in.

“Hullo!” cried Josiah Bean.  “What are you doin’ here?”

“I got a room overnight,” answered our hero.

“We’re stopping here, too.  This is my friend, Mr. Henry Davis.”

“Good morning,” said the slick-looking man.  He did not seem to fancy meeting Joe.

They sat down close at hand and, while eating, the farmer asked Joe half a dozen questions.

He spoke about his own business until Henry Davis nudged him in the side.

“I wouldn’t tell that boy too much,” he said in a low tone.

“Oh, he’s all right,” answered the old farmer.

Joe heard the slick-looking individual’s words and they made his face burn.  He looked at the man narrowly and made up his mind he was not a fellow to be desired for an acquaintance.

Having finished, our hero paid his bill and left the restaurant.  He scarcely knew which way to turn, but resolved to look over the newspapers first and see if any positions were offered.

While in the reading room he saw Josiah Bean and his acquaintance leave the hotel and walk in the direction of Broad street.

A little later Joe took from the paper he was reading the addresses of several people who wanted help, and then he, too, left the hotel.

The first place he called at was a florist’s establishment, but the pay was so small he declined the position.

“I could not live on three dollars per week,” he said.

“That is all we care to pay,” answered the proprietor, coldly.  “It is more than other establishments pay.”

“Then I pity those who work at the other places,” returned Joe, and walked out.

CHAPTER XV.

WHAT HAPPENED TO JOSIAH BEAN.

In the meantime Josiah Bean and the slick-looking individual turned into Broad street and made their way to a certain establishment known as the Eagle’s Club.