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His Mother’s Son
by
The boy crossed the crowded lobby. 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. There’s–let’s see now–who’s in eighty-seven? Well, there’s two Bisons in the double bed, and one in the single, and Fat Ed Meyers in the cot and–“
Emma McChesney stiffened into acute attention. “Meyers?” she interrupted. “Do you mean Ed Meyers of the Strauss Sans-silk Skirt Company?”
“That’s so. You two are in the same line, aren’t you? He’s a great little piano player, Ed is. Ever hear him play?”
“When did he get in?”
“Oh, he just came in fifteen minutes ago on the Ashland division. He’s in at supper.” “Oh,” said Emma McChesney. The two letters breathed relief.
But relief had no place in the voice, or on the countenance of Jock McChesney. He bristled with belligerence. “This cattle-car style of sleeping don’t make a hit. I haven’t had a decent night’s rest for three nights. I never could sleep on a sleeper. Can’t you fix us up better than that?”
“Best I can do.”
“But where’s mother going? I see you advertise three ‘large and commodious steam-heated sample rooms in connection.’ I suppose mother’s due to sleep on one of the tables there.”
“Jock,” Emma McChesney reproved him, “Mr. Sims is doing us a great favor. There isn’t another hotel in town that would–“
“You’re right, there isn’t,” agreed Mr. Sims. “I guess the young man is new to this traveling game. As I said, I’d like to accommodate you, but–Let’s see now. Tell you what I’ll do. If I can get the housekeeper to go over and sleep in the maids’ quarters just for to- night, you can use her room. There you are! Of course, it’s over the kitchen, and there may be some little noise early in the morning–“
Emma McChesney raised a protesting hand. “Don’t mention it. Just lead me thither. I’m so tired I could sleep in an excursion special that was switching at Pittsburgh. Jock, me child, we’re in luck. That’s twice in the same place. The first time was when we were inspired to eat our supper on the diner instead of waiting until we reached here to take the leftovers from the Bisons’ grazing. I hope that housekeeper hasn’t a picture of her departed husband dangling, life- size, on the wall at the foot of the bed. But they always have. Good- night, s
on. Don’t let the Bisons bite you. I’ll be up at seven.”
But it was just 6:30 A.M. when Emma McChesney turned the little bend in the stairway that led to the office. The scrub-woman was still in possession. The cigar-counter girl had not yet made her appearance. There was about the place a general air of the night before. All but the night clerk. He was as spruce and trim, and alert and smooth- shaven as only a night clerk can be after a night’s vigil.
“‘Morning!” Emma McChesney called to him. She wore blue serge, and a smart fall hat. The late autumn morning was not crisper and sunnier than she.
“Good-morning, Mrs. McChesney,” returned Mr. Sims, sonorously. “Have a good night’s sleep? I hope the kitchen noises didn’t wake you.”
Emma McChesney paused with her hand on the door. “Kitchen? Oh, no. I could sleep through a vaudeville china-juggling act. But—what an extraordinarily unpleasant-looking man that housekeeper’s husband must have been.”