"Now I am in a pickle," the lad murmured. "No baggage, not even a clean collar, only a little over four dollars left" (for he had taken one from his pocketbook to leave for his room rent), "and I can't even tell the police I've been robbed. If I do they'll question me and find out I'm wanted for that stock matter. I certainly am up against it. But I guess I'd better get away from here. That detective may go to my room, discover that I've gone, and make a search." Ned peered out of the gate. The street was deserted at that moment. With a hasty look up at the window of his room he had just left, and from which the rope still dangled, Ned, in worse plight than he had been before, hurried away. Once more he felt himself an outcast, without a place to go. "When they see that rope they'll suspect I'm some sort of a criminal," he reflected bitterly. "What a lot of trouble a fellow can get into without meaning it," he reflected. "This is the last time I'll ever buy stocks or bonds on my own responsibility. I guess dad can manage finances until I learn the ropes a little better." He walked on, not knowing whither he was bound. He emerged from the side street to one of the main thoroughfares. There he mingled with the crowds, believing, that for the present at least, he was safe from pursuit. "But I've got to stay somewhere to-night," he told himself. "I can't walk the streets forever. I wonder if there isn't some place where I can get a bed without having to answer a lot of questions about myself?" As he walked along an illuminated sign, on a building across the street, attracted his attention. It informed those who cared to know that the place was the "Owl Lodging House," and that single beds could be had for fifteen cents a night, or a room including the privilege of a bath, for twenty-five cents. "That about fits my pocketbook," Ned reasoned. "Twenty-five cents a night is cheaper than a dollar, and I've got to be saving. I wonder if it's clean? It seems like living in a tenement house, but I s'pose lots of men have to. I'll try it anyhow. If I don't like the looks of it I can leave." He walked up the stairs. Certainly the place would not have taken a prize for cleanliness but then, Ned reflected, beggars must not be choosers. He emerged into a big room, lighted by several gas jets, and seemingly filled with men in chairs who were lolling about in all sorts of attitudes. Some were asleep and some were reading newspapers. As Ned stood irresolutely gazing on the scene his thoughts were interrupted by a sharp voice. "Well, young man, do you want a room or a bed?" "Have you any rooms left?" asked Ned, turning to see a man staring at him from a small window in an office built against one side of the apartment. "Lots of 'em," replied the clerk of the lodging house. "Twenty-five cents. Pay in advance. This isn't the Waldorf-Astoria." Ned handed a quarter through the half circular opening and received in return a key with a big brass tag.