Suppose they charged more than he had!
The clerk had a particularly nasty face, just the face to take advantage of a vacillating Kipps.
He became aware of a man in a cap touching it, and produced his shilling automatically, but the strain was beginning to tell. It was a deuce and all of an expense—this tipping.
If the hotel chose to stick it on to the bill something tremendous what was Kipps to do? Refuse to pay? Make a row?
If he did he couldn't fight all these men in bottle green....
He went out about seven and walked for a long time and dined at last upon a chop in the Euston Road; then he walked along to the Edgeware Road and sat and rested in the Metropolitan Music Hall for a time until a trapeze performance unnerved him and finally he came back to bed. He tipped the lift man sixpence and wished him good-night. In the silent watches of the night he reviewed the tale of the day's tipping, went over the horrors of the previous night's dinner, and heard again the triumphant bray of the harmonicon devil released from its long imprisonment. Everyone would be told about him to-morrow. He couldn't go on! He admitted his defeat. Never in their whole lives had any of these people seen such a Fool as he! Ugh!...
His method of announcing his withdrawal to the clerk was touched with bitterness.
"I'm going to get out of this," said Kipps, blowing windily. "Let's see what you got on my bill."
"One breakfast?" asked the clerk.
"Do I look as if I'd ate two?"...