The Famous Conrad Lagrange



When the young man reached the hotel, he went at once to his room, where
he passed the time between the hour of his arrival and the evening meal.

Upon his return to the lobby, the first object that attracted his eyes was
the uncouth figure of the man whom he had seen at the depot, and who had
directed him to the hotel.

That oddly appearing individual, his brier pipe still in his mouth and the
Irish Setter at his feet, was standing--or rather lounging--at the clerk's
counter, bending over the register; an attitude which--making his
skeleton-like form more round shouldered than ever--caused him to present
the general outlines of a rude interrogation point.

In the dining-room, a few minutes later, the two men sat at adjoining
tables; and the young man heard his neighbor bullying the waiters and
commenting in an audible undertone, upon every dish that was served to
him--swearing by all the heathen gods, known and unknown, that there was
nothing fit to eat in the house; and that if it were not for the fact that
there was no place else in the cursed town that served half so good, he
would not touch a mouthful in the place. Then, to the other's secret
amusement he fell to right heartily and made an astonishing meal of the
really excellent viands he had so roundly vilified.

Dinner over, the young man went with his cigar to the long veranda; intent
upon enjoying the restful quiet of the evening after the tiresome days on