After another night of poor sleep, I continue to look out the train carriage window. Confirming, I’ll not

have any more indiscretions.’ But then, ‘What does it matter, I’ll be in the middle of nowhere?’ I debate myself, I promised my mother, and my word was my honor.’ Then I remember my grandfather’s death, deliberation concluded. My brothers ragged at my misadventures in the smoking room. I did not deny it and so silence was my circumstantial guilt. I sigh and look out the window as the locomotive smoke drifts by. The Plains of the American Desert appear to be endless. Verdant young crops stretch as far as my eyes can see, emerald green trees surround the occasional farmhouse and then more crops to the horizon.  I wonder out loud, “Where are all the buffalo?” A man told me they are all dead. Then he added, “The Indians too.”

The dark blue Rocky Mountains finally appear and grow larger on the horizon in the light blue sky. My confidence shrinks. I take a deep breath, exhale, and determine, ‘Everything will be alright.’

Two hours later, I stepped on Denver’s Union Station platform, bought a copy of the Denver Post and headed toward my future. I was impressed by the massive wrought iron arch with the word “Welcome” across the top. The brick paved Wynkoop Street had a lovely tree-lined promenade running the length of the station. My instructions were to walk up 17^th Street, which was framed by the arch, passing Wazee, Blake and Market streets. Then I should turn left on Larimer Street where the Windsor Hotel sat on the northwest corner. Taking the advice of the salesman, since my ethics appear only during Lent, I walked down Market Street instead. I was accosted immediately by hawkers selling a good time. Street vendors and young boys sold food, newspapers, and baseball game tickets. Beautiful well-dressed women glanced at my attire, gave me seductive winks and one cooed “So English, come with me.”

I was again presented with the escapade of a woman’s attention. Dilatory and not wishing to penetrate, so to speak, her daily life or dissect her ambitions, I casually asked, “Where would we go?”

“For an adventure.” Her companions gathered as an audience.

I winked an eye, “My mother would be furious.”

“If she had a dirty mind, she would be jealous.”

“I was whacked by my father, at reasonable intervals, to learn the difference between right and wrong. Convince me, I’ve forgotten.” Sighs and “Oh!” drifted from the gallery.

“It only takes the money in your pocket.”

With a cheeky grin, I settled the matter, “It’s gold, heavy and I’m wary from travel. Perhaps another day you’ll be more persuasive.”

“You know where to find me.”

The mocking voices of her companions, “You blew that one,” flowed behind me. I turned back for an adieu, grinned and tipped my bowler hat. All the women returned a smile, giggle or a laugh and waved. My recent acquaintance showed only the slightest apprehension.  I spun and managed to make it through the whirlwind of activity.

Turning on 18^th Street, I realized before the alley that the Windsor Hotel occupied the other half of the block. The exterior was faced with lava stone, trimmed with red sandstone, and finished with ornamental iron fretwork. I walked into the lavish lobby and across the 2-foot square white tiles with more black diamond shaped tiles in the corners. My head and body swiveled 360 degrees looking at the interior built around a central court with two immense wooden stairways and an electric lift. The rooms, on all four floors, apparently had an airy, bright view down to the lobby. The front desk clerk asked, “May I help you sir?”

“My name is Julius Brandon. I’m here to meet with Lyulph Ogilvy.”

“Yes sir, British you are, he made a reservation for you. Are you ready to check in?”

Surprised, I answered, “Yes, I am.”

“Very good sir, please sign here.” He turned the register to me and rang a bell. A bellman appeared instantly. “Lord Ogilvy is tall, has a beard and left a message to meet him at 6 o’clock.”

“Where should I meet him?”

The clerk looking over the tops of his glasses replied, “In the bar, and hopefully he will not be on his horse.”

The bellman chuckled and said, “Would you prefer the stairs or elevator?”

What a strange way to present a letter of introduction. I answered, “The stairs.”

“Yes sir, follow me. I presume this is your first stay at the Windsor.” Before I could answer, he continued, “Many famous men have walked up these stairs, Mark Twain, Rudyard Kipling, Oscar Wilde, Robert Louis Stevenson and Teddy Roosevelt to name a few. Though, three hundred-pound President William Howard Taft used the elevator. I helped extract him from his bath when he was stuck. It was formerly Baby Doe’s gold-plated tub in the Bridal Suite. She’s in Leadville and doesn’t live here anymore. She and Horace Tabor resided here for a long time. He financed the construction three decades ago. See this shadow here from the light from behind the stair post?” I nodded. “Looks like a devil’s head doesn’t it?” I nodded again. “Don’t believe it when people tell you this is the suicide staircase. I mean, ruined men with gambling and commodity market loses have jumped to their deaths, but this is still a nice hotel. Don’t you think?” I nodded once more. “Third floor, here’s your room sir.”

He opened the door, and I gave him a tip. He touched his cap with a finger, and I closed the door. I walked across the Brussels carpet, dropped into the mohair stuffed chair covered with silk plush and placed my hat on the marble-topped dressing table. Exhausted from listening, I fell asleep.

(Greetings Dear Reader! You have not met me yet, but you will, if you continue. I never had a meek nature. There was a time, I would set the world against a burning stake rather than give one inch when I knew I was right. I mellowed after my experience with the man/boy, Julius. It took time for him to realize his Anglo-Saxon good looks. The adventure of any woman’s attention guaranteed a distraction at achieving his goal and the overwhelming, innocent charm flowed from him. He buzzed down Market Street like a bee, bumbled and accidentally got away. CE)