Flowing Gold | Page 2

sometimes gentlemen like--well, like you, sir--give me tips.
They drop a hint, like, about their stocks, and I've done well--in a small
way, of course. It doesn't cost them anything and--some of them are
very kind. You'd really be surprised."
"Oh, not at all." The occupant of the Governor's suite leaned back in his
chair and smiled widely. "As a matter of fact, I am flattered, for it is
evident that you are endowed with the money- making instinct and that
you unerringly recognize it in others. Very well, I shall see what I can
do for you. But while we are on the subject of tips, would you mind
helping yourself to a dollar out of my trousers pocket?"
The waiter proceeded to do as directed, but a moment later announced,
apologetically: "Here's all I find, sir. It's mostly pennies." He exposed a
handful of small coins.
"Look in my coat, if you will."
But the second search resulted as had the first. "Strange!" murmured
the guest, without rising. "I must have been robbed. I remember now, a
fellow crowded me as I left my train. Um--m! Robbed--at the very

gates of Baghdad! Dallas is a City of Adventure. Please add your tip to
the check, and--make it two dollars. I'd like to have you serve me every
morning, for I cannot abide an acid face at breakfast. It sours my whole
day."
Calvin Gray finished his breakfast, smoked a second cigarette as he
scanned the morning paper, then he dressed himself with meticulous
care. He possessed a tall, erect, athletic form, his perfectly fitting
clothes had that touch of individuality affected by a certain few of New
York's exclusive tailors, and when he finally surveyed himself in the
glass, there was no denying the fact that he presented an appearance of
unusual distinction. As he turned away, his eyes fell upon the scanty
handful of small coins which the waiter had removed from his pocket
and for a moment he stared at them reflectively, then he scooped them
into his palm and, with a smile, announced to his image:
"It would seem that it is time for us to introduce ourselves to the
management."
He was humming a tune as he strode out of his richly furnished
quarters.
The Governor's suite at the Ajax is on the mezzanine floor, at the head
of the grand staircase. As Gray descended the spacious marble steps, he
saw that the hotel was indeed doing a big business, for already the
lobby was thickly peopled and at the desk a group of new arrivals were
plaintively arguing with a bored and supercilious room clerk.
Some men possess an effortless knack of commanding attention and
inspiring courtesy. Calvin Gray was one of these. Before many
moments, he was in the manager's office, explaining, suavely, "Now
that I have introduced myself, I wish to thank you for taking care of me
upon such short notice."
"It was the only space we had. If you wish, I'll have your rooms
changed as soon as--"
"Have you something better?"

Haviland, the manager, laughed and shook his head. "Scarcely! That
suite is our pet and our pride. There's nothing to beat it in the whole
Southwest."
"It is very nice. May I inquire the rate?"
"Twenty-five dollars a day."
"Quite reasonable." Mr. Gray beamed his satisfaction.
"It is the only suite we have left. We've put beds in the parlors of the
others, and frequently we have to double up our guests. This oil
excitement is a blessing to us poor innkeepers. I presume it's oil that
brings you here?"
Gray met the speaker's interrogatory gaze with a negative shake of the
head and a smile peculiarly noncommittal. "No," he declared. "I'm not
in the oil business and I have no money to invest in it. I don't even
represent a syndicate of Eastern capitalists. On the contrary, I am a
penniless adventurer whom chance alone has cast upon your hospitable
grand staircase." These words were spoken with a suggestion of mock
modesty that had precisely the effect of a deliberate wink, and Mr.
Haviland smiled and nodded his complete comprehension.
"I get you," said he. "And you're right. The lease hounds would devil
you to death if you gave them a chance. Now then, if there's any way in
which I can be of service--"
"There is." Gray's tone was at once businesslike. "Please give me the
names of your leading bankers. I mean the strongest and the most--well,
discreet."
During the next few minutes Gray received and swiftly tabulated in his
mind a deal of inside information usually denied to the average stranger;
the impression his swift, searching questions made upon the hotel
manager was evident when the latter told him as he rose to go:
"Don't