"I should be much obliged if you would direct me to a hotel," she said,
after taking a look around the cheap gaudiness of the saloon.
"I'm sorry to say that we have no hotel here as yet, Miss--er--?"
"Musgrave. Miss Mary Musgrave"--with a little bow. "But I heard that a
German had started a hotel here."
"No; there is nothing but this. That"--pointing to Herr Gustave, who was
regarding the newcomer with an evil eye--"that is the German."
Miss Musgrave appeared distressed.
"Then where can I go?" she asked. "Are there any lodgings to be had?"
"The lady may have my place," chorused three eager voices, and every man
in the room repeated the offer.
She thanked them with a pretty smile and one comprehensive bow, and
looked up at the Scholar for help.
"I would offer you my hut if it were not such a wretched one. But, as
it is, I should advise you to take this man's"--and he pointed to Tommy
Dartmoor.
"Why, mine's twenty carats better than hisn!" exclaimed the Cripple.
"And mine better 'n either," growled Dan.
"Mine's the best of the lot."
"No, it isn't; mine is," yelled others, till there was a general roar,
which caused Miss Musgrave to look frightened and shrink nearer to the
Scholar, and that gentleman to raise his hand for silence.
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