Luke let the matter drop, but he didn’t altogether like to find himself under obligations to a stranger, notwithstanding his assurance, which he took for a joke.  He would have been surprised and startled if he had known how thoroughly Coleman meant what he said about getting even.  The fifty cents he had with such apparent generosity paid out for Luke he meant to get back a hundred-fold.  His object was to gain Luke’s entire confidence, and remove any suspicion he might possibly entertain.  In this respect he was successful.  Luke had read about designing strangers, but he certainly could not suspect a man who insisted on paying his hack fare.

“I hope you will not be disappointed in the Ottawa House,” observed Mr. Coleman, as they rattled through the paved streets.  “It isn’t a stylish hotel.”

“I am not used to stylish living,” said Luke, frankly.  “I have always been used to living in a very plain way.”

“When I first went on the road I used to stop at the tip-top houses, such as the Palmer at Chicago, the Russell House in Detroit, etc., but it’s useless extravagance.  Claflin allows me a generous sum for hotels, and if I go to a cheap one, I put the difference into my own pocket.”

“Is that expected?” asked Luke, doubtfully.

“It’s allowed, at any rate.  No one can complain if I choose to live a little plainer.  When it pays in the way of business to stop at a big hotel, I do so.  Of course, your boss pays your expenses?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’d better do as I do—­put the difference in your own pocket.”

“I shouldn’t like to do that.”

“Why not?  It is evident you are a new traveler, or you would know that it is a regular thing.”

Luke did not answer, but he adhered to his own view.  He meant to keep a careful account of his disbursements and report to Mr. Armstrong, without the addition of a single penny.  He had no doubt that he should be paid liberally for his time, and he didn’t care to make anything by extra means.

The Ottawa House was nearly a mile and a half distant.  It was on one of the lower streets, near the lake.  It was a plain building with accommodations for perhaps a hundred and fifty guests.  This would be large for a country town or small city, but it indicated a hotel of the third class in Chicago.  I may as well say here, however, that it was a perfectly respectable and honestly conducted hotel, notwithstanding it was selected by Mr. Coleman, who could not with truth be complimented so highly.  I will also add that Mr. Coleman’s selection of the Ottawa, in place of a more pretentious hotel, arose from the fear that in the latter he might meet someone who knew him, and who would warn Luke of his undesirable reputation.

Jumping out of the hack, J. Madison Coleman led the way into the hotel, and, taking pen in hand, recorded his name in large, flourishing letters—­as from New York.