There was a little worried, annoyed
frown between his eyes. He laid a protecting hand on his mother's arm.
Emma McChesney was conscious of a little thrill of pride as she
realized that he did not have to look up to meet her gaze.
"Look here, Mother, they tell me there's some sort of a convention
here, and the town's packed. That's what all those banners and things
were for. I hope they've got something decent for us here. I came up
with a man who said he didn't think there was a hole left to sleep
in."
"You don't say!" exclaimed Emma McChesney, and turned to the clerk.
"This is my son, Jock McChesney--Mr. Sims. Is this true?"
"Glad to know you, sir," said Mr. Sims. "Why, yes, I'm afraid we are
pretty well filled up, but seeing it's you maybe we can do something
for you."
He ruminated, tapping his teeth with a pen-holder, and eying the pair
before him with a maddening blankness of gaze. Finally:
"I'll do my best, but you can't expect much. I guess I can squeeze
another cot into eighty-seven for the young man.
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