"Of course. Come on. It's safe, even if it does shake a bit. It always does. There's no danger of it falling off. Next time we'll take the subway." "All aboard! Step lively!" cried the guard at the gate, and Roy, with some misgivings, followed his friend. The ride, on a level with the second-story windows of the buildings, was a great novelty to the boy from the ranch and he soon got over his feeling of nervousness in looking out at the strange sights on every hand. "Here we are!" exclaimed De Royster at length. "I'll take you to the hotel." They got out, walked down a flight of steps, and soon were in front of a good, though not showy hotel. In spite of the fact that it was not one of the most fashionable in New York, the magnificence of the entrance, with its rich hangings, the marble ornamentation, the electric lights and the stained glass, made Roy wonder if his friend had not made some mistake. It seemed more like the home of some millionaire, than a public hotel. "Go ahead; I'll be right with you," called De Royster, as he showed Roy into the lobby. "I want to speak to a gentleman a moment." Somewhat bewildered, Roy advanced into the middle of the lobby, with its marble floor. Though he was not aware of it, he made rather a queer figure, with his clothes of unstylish cut, his travel-stained appearance, the mud on his hands and garments, and his general air of being a stranger, totally unused to New York ways. "Well, what do you want?" suddenly exclaimed the voice of a boy in a uniform that seemed to consist of nothing but brass buttons. "We don't allow peddlers in here!" CHAPTER XIII A VISIT TO MR. ANNISTER Roy turned and looked at the boy who had made the somewhat insulting remark. "I beg your pardon, stranger," he replied in his western drawl. "I didn't quite catch your remark." "Aw, come off!" slangily replied the brass-buttoned boy, one of many in the hotel employed to show guests to their rooms whenever summoned by a bell rung by the clerk. "What are you, anyhow? Selling patent medicine or some Indian cure?" For Roy plainly showed the effect of his western life, his hair being a little longer than it is worn in the east, his clothes rather too large for him, and his broad-brimmed hat quite conspicuous. "So you think I'm rustling medicine, eh?" he asked the boy. "I don't know what you're 'rustling' but I know if you try to sell anything in this joint, you'll get the poke, see!" Roy began to think the language of the East was almost as effective as that of the West in expressing ideas. "I'm not selling medicine, stranger," Roy went on, using the term he had picked up among the cowboys when they meet one whom they do not know. "I'm going to put up at this bunk-house, I reckon." "That's a good one!" exclaimed the boy with a laugh. "What Wild West show are you from? This is no theatrical boarding house. Better beat it out of here before the clerk sees you."