Down the line with John Henry

by George V. Hobart

JOHN HENRY AND THE HOTEL CLERK.

Kee Barclay, Jim Wilkinson and I were leaning over the counter talking to His Nobs, the Hotel Clerk, when Dan the Dyspeptic squeezed up and began to let a peep out of him about the pie he had eaten for dinner.

"Calm yourself!" said Smiling Steve, "and tell me where it bit you."

Steve has been throwing keys at the wall for some time, and he knows how to burn the beefers.

"Bit me! bit me!" snarled the old chap; "nothing of the kind, sir! I want you to know, sir, that your pie isn't fit to eat, sir!"

"Cut it out!" suggested Steve.

"Cut it out, sir! how can I cut it out when I've eaten it, sir? It's an outrage and I shall leave this hotel to-morrow," said Dan.

"With the exception of $31.72, balance due, that will be about all from you!" said Steve.

"I'll see the proprietor," said the old fellow, moving away with a face on him like an interrupted beef stew.

"We get it good and plenty every day," said Steve, and just then Skate Peters grabbed the book and burned his John Hancock on it.