"Odd--deucedly odd," thought John Ryder. "And how startled that fellow was when he heard the boy. Or was he? Not a bad looking fellow; but he's queer. Ruth says he is touched in the upper story, and I believe myself that some of his buttons are loose. "Or, if he is a crook--and that would not be so strange," added Ryder, letting his mind run upon this train of thought. "A crook with a woman accomplice in this hotel might easily make a good haul tonight, considering the state affairs are in. I wonder if there isn't a detective attached to Pinewood Inn." Before he could turn back to ask George about this, his attention was attracted from the man, White, to an old gentleman who had just left the elevator leaning on the arm of a colored man. The old fellow was in some excitement, and he hobbled quickly to the desk, his gray hair bristling from under the rim of the round black cap he wore, his feet shuffling in gay carpet slippers. It was evident that he had retired to his room for the night, and had made himself comfortable there. Something had routed him out and he had merely shrugged himself into a coat before coming down to the office. "Look here, sir! Look here, sir!" the old man cried, shaking his cane at George in a hand that quivered with palsy. "What does this mean? How dare that Bangs turn us out of the hotel in such a way? I'll write Mr. Giddings about it. Mr. Giddings is my friend. He will not see me so insulted and annoyed." Ryder heard an amused bystander say: "Here's old Pop Cudger; he's on the warpath, too. Now there'll be something doing." "Get him and the colonel together and there will be fireworks, sure enough," agreed another man, with a chuckle. George was trying to pacify the angry old man, but the latter would not accord the clerk's explanation much attention. "It is nonsense! It is preposterous!" cried Mr. Cudger. "Mr. Giddings is my friend----" "And if Giddings hadn't been so anxious to put Bangs out we wouldn't all be in this pickle," somebody remarked loud enough for Mr. Cudger to hear. "Ha!" exclaimed the latter, turning a withering glance upon the speaker, and then immediately turning back to George. "Is it true that the lights are to be put out?" "The dynamos can't run later than midnight. Then the lights will naturally have to be shut off all over the hotel, Mr. Cudger. I'm sorry, sir----" "Lights turned out--and half the help running away?" cried Cudger. "Next thing, I suppose, James, here, will be leaving me in the lurch," and he glared at the colored man. "Oh, no, suh! I'se gwine to stay right heah by yo'," declared James. "And what's going to become of my picture?" demanded the old gentleman, beginning on another tack. "What provision has been made to guard my picture, sir---- Van Scamp's famous 'Cheesemonger'? That was hung in the parlor by special permission of Mr. Giddings, sir." "I don't think anybody will touch your picture, Mr. Cudger," said the clerk, soothingly.