"No use of lyin' about it," he said. "I'm stoppin' down here at the
Blue Sky Hotel. It's a dandy place to stop at. They never present
a board bill."

Jimmie sat back on the rope which was drawn about the Nelson to keep
meddlesome ones away from the machine and burst into a roar of
laughter. The crowd looked on stupidly, glancing from boy to boy,
and then at one another, as if wondering if these Americans always
went crazy when they met in a foreign land.

"I know that Blue Sky Hotel," Jimmie said, presently, "though I've
never heard it called by that name before. I had a room in one, in
Central Park, New York, until a sparrow cop drove me out of it. I
liked it because I didn't have to dress for dinner there," he added,
whimsically.

"The feed is rather slim," observed the other.

"It's run on the European plan," grinned Jimmie. "You get your
sleepins, an' no one cares whether you get your eatin's or not.
What's your name?"

"Dougherty--Mike Dougherty, Clark street, south of Van Buren!"

"I guess you must be French," Jimmie grinned.

"You've guessed it. Now, what's your name, and what are you boys
doin' here with this old sky-ship?"