"I'm v-very sorry—it was not my eyewinker—such things will happen—I will speak to the pastry cook and ask him to be careful——"
Mr. Budlong, who had come in to lay his grievance before Mr. Cone, interrupted:
"For two mornings Mrs. Budlong and myself have been awakened by the man with the vacuum cleaner who has wanted to work in our room before we were out of it. I should judge," he said, acidly, "that you recruit your servants from the Home for the Feeble-minded, and, personally, I am sick of it!"
"It is almost impossible to get competent help," Mr. Cone protested. "The man shall be discharged and I promise you no further annoyance."
Mr. Budlong, nudged by his wife, was not to be placated.
"Our week is up Monday, and we are leaving."
Miss Mattie Gaskett, encouraged by the conversation to which she had listened, declared with asperity:
"There has been fuzz under my bed for exactly one week, Mr. Cone, and I have not called the maid's attention to it because I wished to see how long it would remain there. I have no reason to believe that it will be removed this summer. I am sure it is not necessary to tell you that such filth is unsanitary. I have decided that you can make out my bill at your earliest convenience."
"But, Miss Gaskett——"
She ignored the protesting hand which Mr. Cone, panic-stricken, extended, and made way for a widow from Baltimore, who informed him that her faucet dripped and her rocking-chair squeaked, and since no attention had been paid to her complaints she was making other arrangements.