“Gus has treated me as though I wasn’t Ned Ackerman at all,” thought he, as he followed the bell-boy up the stairs. “He has travelled on his own hook, leaving me to take care of myself, and now I am going to pay him back in his own coin. He ought to come and make things straight with me, if he only knew it, for he can’t have the cheek to go home again after what he has done.” But Gus had not the slightest intention of making things straight. He had had quite enough of his old friend, and he was just as independent as Ned was. He did not register his name, but went into the wash-room, and after removing all the travel-stains from his hands, face and clothing, he came out, and left the hotel. It was a long time before Ned heard where he went and what he did. Meanwhile, Ned was working hard with a brush broom, a piece of soap and a coarse towel, to make himself presentable; but when he got through and took a look at himself in the mirror, he was anything but pleased with the result. His hands and face were very brown, and his red shirt looked as though it had been through two or three wars. “I can’t stand this. I am ashamed of myself,” thought he. “I noticed as I came along, that there were a good many stylish young fellows on the street, and I am not going among them with such clothes as these on. Fortunately, I have money enough to rig myself out equal to the best of them. If I only had my nobby suit now, wouldn’t I make folks stare?” Ned went down stairs and out of the hotel. When he returned, about half an hour later, he carried a satchel in his hand and a bundle under his arm. He made his way to his room, and when he came out again, no one who had seen him when he rode into town would have taken him for the same boy. Gus Robbins would have been obliged to look twice at him before he could have recognised him. His cousin’s coarse clothing had been exchanged for a broadcloth suit of the latest and most fashionable cut, and the wearer looked like a dapper young clerk out for a holiday. Being satisfied now that he could appear on the streets without attracting any but admiring glances, Ned went down to the office. The clerk was not there, and while the boy stood leaning against the counter, waiting for him to come in so that he could give him his key, he heard a voice behind him—a familiar voice, that made the cold chills creep all over him. He knew who the owner of the voice was, but some strange fascination compelled him to turn his head and look at him over his shoulder. There were two men standing in front of the counter with the register before them. One held a pen in his hand, and was on the point of writing his name, when another name above the first vacant line attracted his attention. “Why, look here, Joe,” said he. “‘_Edward Ackerman._’ That’s our man. He was coming to Brownsville, you know.” “So he was,” said Joe.