Luke shook his head.

“I don’t care to learn,” he said.

“Oh, you’re a good boy—­one of the Sunday-school kind,” said Coleman, with a slight sneer.  “You’ll get over that after a while.  You’ll be here when I come back?”

Luke promised that he would, and for the next half hour he was left alone.  As his friend Mr. Coleman left the car, he followed him with his glance, and surveyed him more attentively than he had hitherto done.  The commercial traveler was attired in a suit of fashionable plaid, wore a showy necktie, from the center of which blazed a diamond scarfpin.  A showy chain crossed his vest, and to it was appended a large and showy watch, which looked valuable, though appearances are sometimes deceitful.

“He must spend a good deal of money,” thought Luke.  “I wonder that he should be willing to go to a two-dollar-a-day hotel.”

Luke, for his own part, was quite willing to go to the Ottawa House.  He had never fared luxuriously, and he had no doubt that even at the Ottawa House he should live better than at home.

It was nearer an hour than half an hour before Coleman came back.

“I stayed away longer than I intended,” he said.  “I smoked three cigars, instead of one, seeing you wasn’t with me to keep me company.  I found some social fellows, and we had a chat.”

Mr. Coleman absented himself once or twice more.  Finally, the train ran into the depot, and the conductor called out, “Chicago!”

“Come along, Luke!” said Coleman.

The two left the car in company.  Coleman hailed a cab—­gave the order, Ottawa House—­and in less than five minutes they were rattling over the pavements toward their hotel.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE OTTAWA HOUSE

There was one little circumstance that led Luke to think favorably of his new companion.  As the hackman closed the door of the carriage, Luke asked:  “How much is the fare?”

“Fifty cents apiece, gentlemen,” answered cabby.

Luke was about to put his hand into his pocket for the money, when Coleman touching him on the arm, said:  “Never mind, Luke, I have the money,” and before our hero could expostulate he had thrust a dollar into the cab-driver’s hand.

“All right, thanks,” said the driver, and slammed to the door.

“You must let me repay you my part of the fare, Mr. Coleman,” said Luke, again feeling for his pocketbook.

“Oh, it’s a mere trifle!” said Coleman.  “I’ll let you pay next time, but don’t be so ceremonious with a friend.”

“But I would rather pay for myself,” objected Luke.

“Oh, say no more about it, I beg.  Claflin provides liberally for my expenses.  It’s all right.”

“But I don’t want Claflin to pay for me.”

“Then I assure you I’ll get it out of you before we part.  Will that content you?”