I drew back and stared at him.
“I don’t know you,” I said.
The waiter stood staring at us in amused astonishment. The ways of these Americans were always droll, of course, to him.
“Oh, Frank, brother, why receive me thus coldly? Why this cruel estrangement? This freezing stare?” exclaimed my visitor as the waiter, after lounging a moment, went out and closed the door. Then the newcomer’s manner changed. “Or am I mistaken, and is it—the Emperor?” the last sentence in a low, sly tone with a look of intense cunning.
“I don’t know who the devil you are, but you’ve no business here anyway, so get out, right now,” I said angrily.
He took no notice and stood staring at me with the same smile of cunning. Then shaking his head as if in reproach, he sat down.
“This is my room. Get out of it,” I cried.
He did not move, so I crossed to the bell.
“Shall I call some one to pitch you out?”
He spread his hands and wagged his head.