"It's in our honor," said he. "We've got to shell out."
And sure enough it was. We had to disgorge pro rata to all the assembled ones, and Massenger said afterward that he thought one or two of the guests came in for certain of our gratuities.
When we stepped into the 'bus, quite innocent of coins of any sort, I listened, expecting to hear:
"Now, in spite of rainy day,
We have gone and made our hay.
And I don't care what you say,
When the Yankees come this way
We get what they bring."
They got it all right, but I was quite unnerved for some time. The attack had been so sudden.
In Ireland there is nothing to equal this for system, and a copper does make a man feel grateful—or at least it does make him express gratitude. I have yet to hear curses in Ireland.
But when you visit private houses you don't know what to do. Tips are expected there—not by everybody, but by maid and coachman, anyhow, and you wonder what is the right thing to do.
To be sure you have caused trouble. You have placed your boots outside your door, just as you have latterly learned to do at home, and it was a maid who gave them that dull polish that wears out in a half hour. Leave polish behind when you leave America—that seems, by the way, to be the motto of a good many traveling Americans, but I referred to the kind that you can see your face in when imparted by an Italian.
