"Shall we go in and take our seats?" said Fairfax. Andy assented, and they were speedily in their seats. I do not propose to speak of the play. It was a novelty to Andy to see a dramatic representation, and he thoroughly enjoyed it. Fairfax was more accustomed to such things, but pretended to be equally interested, feeling that in this way he could ingratiate himself better into Andy's confidence. At last it was over, and they went out of the building. "How did you like it?" asked Fairfax. "Tiptop," said Andy, promptly. "Don't you think so?" "Capital," answered Fairfax, with simulated delight. "I am glad I had company. I don't enjoy anything half as well alone. By the way, where do you pass the night?" "At some hotel--I don't know which." "Suppose you go to the Adams House. I've got to stop overnight somewhere, and it might be pleasanter going in company." "Where is the Adams House?" "On Washington Street, not very far off--ten or fifteen minutes' walk." "If it's a good place, I'm willing." "It is an excellent hotel, and moderate in price. We might go up there now, and engage a room, and then spend the evening where we like." "Very well," said Andy. They soon reached the Adams House--a neat, unpretending hotel--and entered. They walked up to the desk, and Fairfax spoke to the clerk. "Can you give us a room?" "Certainly. Enter your names." "Shall we room together?" asked Fairfax, calmly. Now Andy, though he had had no objection to going to the theater with his present companion, did not care to take a room with a stranger, of whom he knew nothing. He might be a very respectable man, but somehow, Andy did not know why, there was something in his manner which inspired a little repulsion. Besides, he remembered that he had considerable money with him, and that consideration alone rendered it imprudent for him to put himself in the power of a companion. So he said, a little awkwardly: "I think we'd better take separate rooms." "Very well," said Fairfax, in a tone of indifference, though he really felt very much disappointed. "I thought it might have been a little more sociable to be together." Andy did not take the hint, except so far as to say: "We can take rooms alongside of each other." "I can give you adjoining rooms, if you desire," said the clerk. Fairfax here entered his name in the hotel register as "Nathaniel Marvin, Portland, Maine," while Andy put down his real address. His companion's was, of course, fictitious. He did not venture to give the name of Fairfax, as that might be recognized by Andy as that of the highwayman, with whose little plans he had interfered. A servant was called, and they went up to their rooms, which, as the clerk had promised, were found to be adjoining. They were precisely alike. "Very comfortable, Mr. Burke," said Fairfax, in a tone of apparent satisfaction. "I think we shall have a comfortable night." "I guess so," said Andy. "Are you going to stay here now?"