1895. The story begins: But you must know where you are goin' to stop, and the speaker, holding in one hand a battered tin pail, seated himself on the curbstone by the side of a small, almost disreputable-looking boy. Well, I don't, was the decided reply. I slept in a milk-wagon last night, 'cause I didn't feel like walkin' to the Astor House, an' now I haven't made up my mind whether I'll go to the Brunswick, or snoop 'round for another cart. The boy with the tin pail looked at his new acquaintance in undisguised astonishment a moment, and then asked, in a tone intended to be sarcastic: Why don' t you buy three or four of the biggest hotels, an' then you could swap round when you wanted to? See other titles by this author available from Kessinger Publishing.