A NIGHT IN NEW YORK.
43
Palace Hotel. The trip overland had brightened them a good bit, and they no longer looked as green as when they had started.
They had just stepped from a Market Street car in front of the hotel when they saw a youth coming down the hotel steps who looked strangely familiar, in spite of the somewhat ragged clothing he wore.
"Randy, who is that fellow?" questioned Earl, quickly, as he caught his brother by the elbow.
"Why, if it isn't Fred Dobson!" burst from Randy's lips. "How in the world did he get away out here? Fred Dobson! Fred Dobson! Stop, we want to talk to you!" he called out, as the youth in question was on the point of hurrying off.
