"Well, not exactly full, Steve, but--h'm--we've got the 'Joe Gridley Combination' with us overnight, and about everything----" "Go on--go on--what'd I tell you? Up ag'in these fly-by-nights as usual!" blurted out Steve. The clerk raised his hand deprecatingly. "Sorry, old man. Put you on the top floor with some of the troupe--good rooms, of course, but not what I like to give you. Leading lady's got your room, and the manager's got the one you sometimes have over the extension. It'll only be for to-night. They're going away in the morning, and I----" "Cut it out--cut it out--and forget it," interrupted Steve. "So am I going away in the morning. Got to take the 5.40 and hunt up that trunk. Can't do a thing without it. Only waltzed in here to get something to eat and a bed. Be back later. Put me anywhere. This week's hoodooed, and these show guys are doing it. You want a guardian, Stephen--a gentle, mild-eyed little guardian. That's what you want." The clerk rang a gong that sounded like a fire-alarm and the porter came in on a run. "Take Mr. Dodd's grip and show him up to Number 11." On the way upstairs Steve's quick eye caught the flare of a play-bill tacked to one wall. "What is it?" he asked of the porter, pointing to the poster--"an 'East Lynne' or a 'Mother's Curse'?" "No--one o' them mix-ups, I guess. Song and dance stunts. Number 11, did Larry say? There ye are--key's in the lock." And the porter pushed open the door of the room with his foot, dropped Steve's bag on the pine table, turned up the gas--the twilight was coming on--asked if there was "anything more"--found there wasn't--not even a dime--and left Steve in possession. "'Bout as big as a coffin, and as cold," grumbled Steve, looking around the room. "No steam-heat--one pillow and"--here he punched the bed--"one blanket, and thin at that--the bed hard as a--Well, if this don't take the cake! If this burg don't get a hotel soon I'll cut it out of my territory." Steve washed his hands; wiped them on a 14x20 towel; hung it flat, that it might dry and be useful in the morning, gave his hair a slick with his comb, scooped up a dozen cigars from a paper box, stuffed them in his outside pocket, relocked his grip, and retraced his steps downstairs. When he reached the play-bill again he stopped for particulars. Condensed and pruned of inflammatory adjectives, the gay-colored document conveyed the information that the "Joe Gridley Combination" would play for this one night, performance beginning at 8 P.M., sharp. Molly Martin and Jessie Hannibal would dance, Jerry Gobo, the clown, would dislocate the ribs of the audience by his mirth-provoking sallies, and Miss Pearl Rogers of International, etc., etc., would charm them by her up-to-date delineations of genteel society. Then followed a list of the lesser lights, including chorus girls, clog dancers, and acrobats.