"They're off for Sacramento."
"They'll have to earn their money to find us there," said Abrams.
The gray day had become grayer, and the wind blew fresh in our faces
with the smell of rain heavy upon it, as we sought the hotel. It was a
bare country place, yet trees grew by the hotel and there were vines
climbing about its side, and it looked as though we might be
comfortable for a day, should we have to stay there so long.
"Plenty of room," said the landlord rubbing his hands.
"Are there any letters here for Henry Wilton?" I inquired, bethinking
me that orders might have been sent me already.
"No, sir."
"Nor telegrams?"
"O Lord, no, sir. We don't have telegrams here unless somebody's dead."
"You may give me Mr. Wilton's mail if any comes," I said.
The landlord led the way up the stairs, and beguiled me by informing me
what a fine house he had and how hard the times were.
"We wish a large room, you know, where we can be together," I said,
"and sleeping-rooms adjoining."
"Here's just the place for you," said the landlord, taking the way to
the end of the upper hall and throwing open a double door. "This is the
up-stairs parlor, but I can let you have it. There's this large bedroom
opening off it,--the corner bedroom, sir,--and this small one here at
this side opens into the parlor and the hall. Perhaps you would like
this other one, too."
He seemed ready and anxious to rent us the whole house.
"This is enough for our comfort," I assured him.
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