When we reached the hotel, a gentleman (Mr. Potiphar said he was sure he was a gentleman, from a remark he made—in English) came bowing out. But before the door of the carriage was opened, Mr. P. thrust his head out of the window, and holding the door shut, cried out, “Do you speak English here?”
“Certainly, sir,” replied the clerk; and that was the remark that so pleased Mr. Potiphar.
My room was next to the Potiphars, and I heard a great deal, you may be sure. I didn’t mean to, but I couldn’t help it. The next morning, when they were about coming down, I heard Polly say—
“Now, Mr. Potiphar, remember, if you want to speak of your room it is numero quatre-vingt cinq” and she pronounced it very slowly. “Now try, Mr. P.”
“Oh! dear me. Kattery vang sank,” said he.
“Very good,” answered she; “au troisième; that means, on the third floor. Now try.”
“O tror—Otrorsy—O trorsy—Oh! dear me!” muttered he in a tone of despair.
“ème,” said Mrs. P.
“Aim,” said he.
“Well?” said Mrs. P.