Maurice listened to this conversation with impatient annoyance. He liked his pretty cousin enough to be jealous of any one to whom she seemed attentive, and he thought her altogether too cordial with this strange boy. "Who's that fellow?" he asked, as they were passing out of the depot. "I don't know whom you mean." "The boy you spoke to." "The _young gentleman_ I spoke to," remarked Bessie, with emphasis, "was Gilbert Grey." "And who is Gilbert Grey, and how did you become acquainted with him?" "Uncle Henry put me in his charge," said Bessie. "I've traveled with him all the way from Buffalo." "A great protector he is!" sneered Maurice. "He isn't old enough to take charge of a kitten." "A kitten would be more trouble than I was," said Bessie. "She might scratch. I never do that, you know, Cousin Maurice." "I should think Uncle Henry might have found some older person to put you in charge of." "I am glad he didn't. Gilbert was real nice." "You shouldn't call him by his first name; it isn't proper." "Pray don't talk about what's proper. I heard enough of that from Miss Wiggins. Besides, he's only a boy, you know, though, to be sure, he looks almost as old as you." "Don't be so provoking, Bessie. I am much larger than he." "Are you? I didn't see it." "I am sorry you invited him to the house, Bessie. He only traveled with you a few hours. There is no need of becoming intimate with him on that account." "I want to become intimate with him," said Bessie, with provoking frankness. "He's very nice." "He seemed to me rather a low, common fellow," said Maurice, irritated. "You needn't like him, if you don't want to," said Bessie. "Let us talk about something else," and she began to make inquiries about home affairs. We return to Tom, whom we left standing on the platform in the depot. "Have a carriage, sir?" asked a hackman. "Where to?" "Anywhere you like--Burnett House." "If you know of any nice hotel where they'll board me for the pleasure of my company, you can take me right along." "They don't do business that way, here." "Never mind, then. I guess my private carriage is outside." Tom, of course, knew nothing of Cincinnati; but, picking out a man with a carpet-bag, whose dress indicated limited means, he followed him. "He won't stop at any of the tip-top hotels," thought our hero. "I can't afford to go first-class any more; my pocket-book ain't so full as it was." He followed his unconscious guide nearly a mile. The latter finally stopped before a small, third-class hotel, which bore the name Ohio House. After a slight pause he entered, and Tom followed him. After the man had registered his name, Tom went up to the desk. "What do you charge?" he asked. "Two dollars a day." "Is that the lowest price?" "Where a party stays a week, it's ten dollars," was the reply. "All right," said our hero. "Will you register your name?"