New York Tours

t the office. Although he knew the house very well, he missed his way in the long corridor, and failed to find the stairway. While endeavoring to "get his bearing," he was accosted by a quiet-looking individual, who told him he must go with him to the office and give an account of himself. The man was the private detective of the house, and seeing that the gentleman had lost his way, supposed at once that he was a hotel thief who had become bewildered in trying to make off from the house. Fortunately, the gentleman was well known at the office, where the mistake was at once discovered and apologized for. AN AGILE THIEF. Some time ago, a man entered the St. Nicholas and robbed the occupant of one of the rooms, during his sleep, of a gold watch and chain, worth about one hundred and fifty dollars, a small amount of money, and a gold shirt-stud, with which he escaped to the hall-way. Succeeding so well, he concluded to try again, and proceeded to room 175, occupied by the cashier of the hotel, lifted that gentleman's clothing from a table, and stole some money from the pockets. As the thief was in the act of leaving the room, the cashier awoke, and, seeing a stranger, asked, "Who's there?" To which the robber replied, "I beg your pardon, sir; I have made a slight mistake." Upon which he hastily left, followed by the cashier, who cried, "Stop thief!" At that moment, detective Golden, employed in the hotel, appeared on the scene of action, and pursued the fugitive. The latter, in his haste, leaped down a whole flight of stairs, when detective Golden cried out to the men below to stop him; and accordingly he was seized and held till the detective ran down and took charge of the prisoner. On searching him, the gold watch and chain were found in his possession; also five different parcels of moneys, doubtless stolen from as many different rooms. [Illustration: St. Nicholas Hotel.] CHAPTER XIX. RESTAURANTS. Thousands of persons, sometimes entire families, live in rooms, and either take their meals at restaurants, or have them sent to them. This has become so common now that it ceases to attract attention in the city, but strangers are struck with it, and are quick to notice the bad effects of it. Living at restaurants begets irregularity in the meal hours, and thus promotes bad health; and the absence of the restraints which the table of a family at home, or even the public board of a hotel, imposes, is the beginning of a looseness of manners, which is generally sure to be followed by a similar defect in morals. The cooking, at the majority of restaurants, is unhealthy, and intoxicating liquors are sold, to an extraordinary extent, as a part of the bill of fare. The principal up-town restaurants are largely patronized by the disreputable classes. Women of the town go there to pick up custom, and men to find such companions. Women of good social position do not hesitate to meet their lovers at such places, for there is a great deal of truth in the old adage which tells us "there's no place so private as a crowded hall." A quiet, but close observer will frequently see a nod, or a smile, or a meaning glance pass between most respectable- looking persons of opposite sexes, and will sometimes see a note slyly sent by a waiter, or dropped adroitly into the hand of the woman as the man passes out. Some of these nominally respectable places are so largely patronized by this class, that a virtuous woman is in constant danger of being insulted should she chance to enter one of them. THE BITER BITTEN. Restaurants, like hotels, are the object of the constant attention of swindlers, though the operations are conducted on a smaller scale. Some of these persons are nominally respectable. A bank clerk, with a fair salary and respectable connections, was in the habit of patronizing a fashionable restaurant, partaking of sumptuous lunches and dinners, and evading _full_ payment, under pretence that he had forgotten his pocket-book, or had omitted, in the hurry of business, to provide himself with small change, etc. Thus, if his check called for one dollar he would pay sixty cents, but invariably forgot upon the next, or any succeeding day, to 'settl