grown graver, "there chances to be a woman at present occupying that
room you just assigned me."

"No! Is that so?" and the clerk swung easily down from his high stool,
drawing the register toward him. "Must be one of the troupe, then.
Let's see--Number Twenty-seven, was n't it? Twenty-seven--oh, yes,
here it is. That's a fact," and his finger slowly traced the line as
he spelled out the name, "'Miss Beth Norvell.' Oh, I remember her
now--black hair, and a long gray coat; best looker among 'em. Manager
said she 'd have to be given a room all to herself; but I clean forgot
I assigned her to Twenty-seven. Make much of a row?"

The other shook his head, bending down so as to read the name with his
own eyes. There was nothing in the least familiar about the sound of
it, and he became faintly conscious of an undefined feeling of
disappointment. Still, if she was upon the stage, the name quite
probably was an assumed one; the very utterance of it left that
impression. He walked over toward the cigar stand and picked out a
weed, thinking gravely while he held a flaming match to the tip.
Somehow he was not altogether greatly pleased with this information; he
should have preferred to discover her to be some one else. He glanced
at the clerk through the slight haze of blue smoke, his increasing
curiosity finding reluctant utterance.

"What troupe is it?" he questioned with seeming carelessness.

"'Heart of the World,'" answered Tom with some considerable increase of
enthusiasm. "A dandy play, and a blamed good company, they tell me.
Got some fine press notices anyhow, an' a carload o' scenery. Played
in Denver a whole month; and it costs a dollar and a half to buy a