He put on a sickly smile, and after lighting a cigar, said he knew we would come back; and asked how our business was.
We told him it had been a little slack, on account of its being so hard to get money. We staid there a week longer, and tried every conceivable plan to force the landlord to ask us for money, but he never mentioned it during our stay. We sold our team and carriage for three hundred dollars cash, and put the money in our pockets, without ever mentioning our hotel bill, or acting as though we considered ourselves his debtors.
Then we made returns to the patentees for their share of the profits on the sales we had made.
The landlord proved himself the "sort of mettle" for our business; and at last one day I stepped up to him, reached out my hand, and said: "Well, landlord, I guess we'll have to leave you for good."
He shook my hand warmly, but looked uneasy and bewildered.
He talked, undertaking to let his conversation drift towards the matter of our indebtedness. Finally I got the floor, and talked at lightning speed, paying him so many compliments, in the presence of his guests, that he was completely non-plussed, and at a loss to know how to act.
Suddenly, seeming to realize that something of much importance had escaped my memory, I said: "By the way, landlord, we haven't settled our bill, yet. How much do we owe you? Make out the bill. Mighty lucky I thought of it."
"By gracious, that's so! That's a fact. You haven't paid your bill yet, have you? Oh, well, I knew it would be all right, anyhow."
After paying up in full, we received loud praise from him, and his assurance that the best his house afforded would never be too good for us, whenever we saw fit to stop with him; and said if we would stay a week longer he would have cream biscuit every meal.