"Can you put me up for the night?" he inquired, advancing to the
counter.

"You look like a feller who'd want a room with bath," drawled the man
behind the counter, surveying the applicant from head to foot. "Which
we ain't got," he added.

"I'll be satisfied to have a room with a bed," said the other.

"Sign here," was the laconic response. He went to the trouble of
actually putting his finger on the line where the guest was expected
to write his name.

"Can I have supper?"

"Food for man and beast," said the other patiently. He slapped his
palm upon a cracked call-bell, and then looked at the fresh name on
the page. "Thomas K. Barnes, New York," he read aloud. He eyed the
newcomer once more. "And automobile?"

"No. I'm walking."

"Didn't I hear you just come up in a car?"

"A fellow gave me a lift from the cross-roads."

"I see. My name is Jones, Putnam Jones. I run this place. My father
an' grandfather run it before me. Glad to meet you, Mr. Barnes. We
used to have a hostler here named Barnes. What's your idea fer footin'