Chapter XII: At the Hotel

There were confused shouts from the crowd. Several men rushed forward, in spite of the efforts of the officer to hold them back. Women screamed, and several fainted.

The horse was rearing and kicking, but Roy, plucky lad that he was, held on like grim death.

With one hand firmly grasping the bridle, he reached up with the other, and clasped the nostrils of the horse in a tight grip. This served to prevent the horse from breathing well, and, as his lungs needed plenty of air, on account of his fast run, the animal probably concluded he had met his master.

"That's right! Hold him!" called a man. "I'll help you in a minute!"

"I guess I can manage him now," said Roy calmly. "There now, old fellow," he went on, speaking soothingly to the horse. The animal was having hard work to breathe. Roy saw this and loosened his hold slightly. Then he began to pat the horse, continuing to speak to it. The animal, which was more frightened than vicious, began to calm down.

"I've got him!" exclaimed the policeman, coming up and taking hold of the bridle.

"Oh, he's all right now; aren't you, old fellow?" spoke Roy, as he rubbed the horse's muzzle.

Indeed the animal did seem to be. His dangerous hoofs were still, and, though he trembled a bit, he was quieting down.

"That was a fine catch, my lad," remarked one man. "Where did you learn to stop runaway horses?"

"Out on my father's ranch in Colorado. This is nothing. We have a runaway every day out there. I've often caught 'em."

"Then the city ought to hire a few lads like you to give some of our policemen lessons," went on the man, with a meaning glance at the officer.

"Come now, move on. Don't collect a crowd," spoke the bluecoat gruffly. He was a little bit ashamed that he had not made an attempt to stop the horse, but it was due more to thoughtlessness than to actual fear. Besides, he first considered getting the women out of harm's way.

"It was a brave act," went on the man. "I'd like to shake hands with you, young man."

He extended his hand which Roy, blushing at the praise, accepted.

"Here, I want to get in on that," exclaimed another man, and soon as many as could crowd around Roy were shaking hands with him, while murmurs of admiration were heard on all sides.

Meanwhile the lady in the cab was being assisted out by a gentleman. Then she took her little girl in her arms. The child spoke, in a high clear voice, that could be heard above the noise of traffic, which had started up again, when it was seen that the runaway was stopped.

"Mother, is that the boy who caught the naughty horsie?"

"Yes, dear, mother wants to thank him."

"So do I, mother. And I want to kiss him for stopping the bad horsie that scared Mary."

There was a laugh at this, and Roy blushed deeper than ever.

"Come on," he said to Mortimer De Royster, who had made his way to his side. "Let's get out of this. Anybody would think I was giving a Wild-West exhibition."

"Well, that's pretty near what it was. I never saw a runaway better stopped, and I've seen some of our best policemen try it. You certainly know how to manage horses."

"Even if I don't know when I'm on a ferry boat," added Roy with a laugh. "But it would be a wonder if I didn't know something about cattle. I've been among 'em all my life."

"Excuse me, sir," spoke the lady who had been in the cab. "I want to thank you for what you did," and she extended her hand, encased in a neat glove.

Roy instinctively held out his hand, and then he drew it back. He noted that it was covered with foam and mud, where the horse had splashed it up on the bridle which he grasped. He had not noticed this when the men congratulated him. The lady saw his hesitation and exclaimed:

"What? You hesitate on account of not wanting to soil my gloves? There!" and before Roy could stop her she had grasped both his hands in her own, practically ruining her new gloves, for his left hand was more dirty than was his right. "What do I care for my gloves?" she exclaimed.

"Can't I kiss the nice boy, mother?" pleaded the little girl, whom her parent had placed on the crosswalk, close beside her.

There was another laugh, but Roy was not going to mind that. Though he had no brothers or sisters, he was very fond of children. The next instant he had stooped over and kissed the little girl.

Once more the crowd laughed, but in a friendly way, for Roy was a lad after the heart of every New Yorker--brave, fearless, yet kind.

"I can't begin to thank you," went on the lady. "But for you, Mary and I might have been killed."

"Oh, I guess the horse would have slowed up pretty soon, ma'am," replied Roy.

"Now don't make light of it," urged the lady. "I wish you would call at my home, and see us. My husband will want to add his thanks to mine. Here is our address."

She gave Roy a card on which was engraved the name, "Mrs. Jonathan Rynear," and the address was uptown in New York.

"The horse took fright when the cabman got down to get something for me in a store," she said, "and ran away before any one could stop him. I can drive horses, but I could not reach the reins of this one, and I dared not let go of my little girl. Now I want you to be sure and come. Will you?"

"Yes, ma'am," spoke Roy, and then, when Mrs. Rynear had shaken hands with him again, Roy managed to make his way through the crowd, and, accompanied by De Royster, he started up the street.

"Well, your entrance to New York is rather theatrical," observed Mortimer De Royster. "You'll get into the papers, first thing you know, really you will, my dear fellow."

"That's just where I don't want to get," said Roy quickly, as he thought that his mission might not be so well accomplished, if Mr. Annister read of the arrival in New York, of the son of the man whose agent he was. "How can it get in the papers?"

"Why, the reporters are all over New York. They'll hear of this in some way, or the policeman will tell them. Besides, the policeman has to report all such happenings on his post, and the reporters to go to the police station in search of news."

"But how will they know I did it?"

"That's so. I don't believe they will, old chap. You didn't give the lady your name."

"No, and I'm glad of it."

"Why; don't you want any one to know you're in New York?"

"Well, not right away. I have certain reasons for it. Later it may make no difference. But I guess the reporters are not liable to know it was me."

"No, perhaps not. The policeman may claim the credit of stopping the runaway. Some of 'em do, so as to get promotion more quickly."

"It wasn't much of a job to stop that runaway."

"Wasn't it? Well, it looked so to me, and I guess it did to the rest of the crowd. But you're all mud. The horse must have splashed you. However you'll soon be at your hotel. We'll take a train."

Still quite bewildered by the noise and confusion Roy followed De Royster up a flight of steps, not knowing where he was going. The next he knew was that his friend had dropped two tickets into the box of the elevated station, and they were waiting for an uptown train. Presently it came along, making the station and track rock and sway with the vibration.

"Come on," cried De Royster.

"Where are you going?" asked Roy, hanging back.

"On the elevated train, of course."

"It isn't safe!" exclaimed the boy from the ranch. "It is shaking now. It'll topple down! It needs bracing! Do you mean to tell me they run trains up in the air, on a track, and they don't fall off?"

"Of course. Come on. It's safe, even if it does shake a bit. It always does. There's no danger of it falling off. Next time we'll take the subway."

"All aboard! Step lively!" cried the guard at the gate, and Roy, with some misgivings, followed his friend.

The ride, on a level with the second-story windows of the buildings, was a great novelty to the boy from the ranch and he soon got over his feeling of nervousness in looking out at the strange sights on every hand.

"Here we are!" exclaimed De Royster at length. "I'll take you to the hotel."

They got out, walked down a flight of steps, and soon were in front of a good, though not showy hotel. In spite of the fact that it was not one of the most fashionable in New York, the magnificence of the entrance, with its rich hangings, the marble ornamentation, the electric lights and the stained glass, made Roy wonder if his friend had not made some mistake. It seemed more like the home of some millionaire, than a public hotel.

"Go ahead; I'll be right with you," called De Royster, as he showed Roy into the lobby. "I want to speak to a gentleman a moment."

Somewhat bewildered, Roy advanced into the middle of the lobby, with its marble floor. Though he was not aware of it, he made rather a queer figure, with his clothes of unstylish cut, his travel-stained appearance, the mud on his hands and garments, and his general air of being a stranger, totally unused to New York ways.

"Well, what do you want?" suddenly exclaimed the voice of a boy in a uniform that seemed to consist of nothing but brass buttons. "We don't allow peddlers in here!"