He had
heard a great deal of the Astor House, which in Hampton and
throughout the country was regarded at that time as the most
aristocratic hotel in New York, and now he was actually a guest in
it. Moreover, he was booked for a first-class passage to California.
"It's like the Arabian Nights," thought Ben, "and Miss Sinclair must
be a fairy."
He took out his scanty wardrobe from the carpetbag, and put it away
in one of the drawers of the bureau.
"I might just as well enjoy all the privileges of the hotel," he
said to himself.
He took out his brush and comb, and brushed his hair. Then he locked
the door of No. 66 and went down-stairs to the ladies' parlor.
He did not have to wait long. In five minutes Miss Sinclair made her
appearance.
"Ben," she said, "here is the check for my trunk. You may take it
down to the office and ask them to send for it. Then come back and I
will acquaint you with some things I wish you to know."
Ben speedily reappeared, and at Miss Sinclair's request sat down
beside her on a sofa.
"You must know, Ben," she commenced, "that I am flying from my
guardian."
"I hope it's all right," said Ben, rather frightened.
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