straits, however, desperation gave him a certain pluck. He would try for
something else for which his own tongue had not disqualified him. With
Joe, to think was to do. He went on to the Continental Hotel, where
there were almost always boys wanted to "run the bells." The clerk
looked him over critically. He was a bright, spruce-looking young
fellow, and the man liked his looks.

"Well, I guess we can take you on," he said. "What 's your name?"

"Joe," was the laconic answer. He was afraid to say more.

"Well, Joe, you go over there and sit where you see those fellows in
uniform, and wait until I call the head bellman."

Young Hamilton went over and sat down on a bench which ran along the
hotel corridor and where the bellmen were wont to stay during the day
awaiting their calls. A few of the blue-coated Mercuries were there.
Upon Joe's advent they began to look askance at him and to talk among
themselves. He felt his face burning as he thought of what they must be
saying. Then he saw the head bellman talking to the clerk and looking in
his direction. He saw him shake his head and walk away. He could have
cursed him. The clerk called to him.

"I did n't know," he said,--"I did n't know that you were Berry
Hamilton's boy. Now, I 've got nothing against you myself. I don't hold
you responsible for what your father did, but I don't believe our boys
would work with you. I can't take you on."

Joe turned away to meet the grinning or contemptuous glances of the
bellmen on the seat. It would have been good to be able to hurl