"Who could possibly guess whose room will be ransacked next?" said one lady, to another who sat beside her at breakfast, to which the other replied:
"A few more happenings of this kind, and I'll pack my trunks, and leave for a place where I can, at least, expect law and order."
The guests of the hotel found it an interesting theme for conversation, and talked of it morning, noon and night, until old Mr. Pendleton, the invalid, became so tired of hearing about it that his patience at last gave way.
"What a fuss! What a nuisance of a fuss! I declare. Women are upset if their finery is tossed around a bit. Nothing was stolen, so why complain? Why get excited?"
No one replied to his outburst. It was well known that to reply to Mr. Pendleton was apt to provoke a torrent of abuse, so he was allowed to sit in his big chair in the corner of the piazza, looking with sharp, black, bead-like eyes from one woman to the other, silently amused, because he believed that they dared not answer.
He was a tough, wiry old man, not really ill, but believing himself to be an invalid, and enjoying the belief. Some one had heard a physician say that an event, or happening of any sort that would startle him into quick action would teach him that the health that he believed lost, was still in his possession.
One morning the queerest thing happened, and as it was just after breakfast, all the guests of the hotel were present to share the great excitement.
While the guests were at breakfast, the maids had put their rooms in order, and as it bid fair to be a hot day, nearly everyone decided to spend the morning on the broad piazza.
Mr. Pendleton, as usual, sat in his favorite corner. He was talking with another man about some distant city that each had often visited. Evidently there was something about which they could not agree, for their voices rose in angry dispute.
"I'm right in my opinion!" shouted Mr. Pendleton, in his thin, shrill voice.