“I vill try, sir,” he replied, with a slight shrug of the shoulders; but he spoke as one not without hope.
Jumping to the front seat by the side of the driver, he ordered the carriage on to the other house. We pulled up before it, and waited there in the rain while the head-porter went inside to interview the proprietor.
We knew from the exterior of the dwelling that it was private, and that lodging and board were provided by the occupants only as a favor to those who could not possibly be accommodated at the hotel.
In about five minutes, that seemed equal to fifteen—so acute was our suspense—the good fellow returned beaming with smiles, and followed by a man who looked a welcome which he could not speak.
The head-porter wore an air of mystery as he thrust his head into the carriage and said, in a low voice: “You vill have de best room—de parlor. Dey vill make you much attention. Don’t say noting.”
“Mum’s the word,” said I, not understanding the object of the last remark, and not caring to ask. It was evident, from the manner of the master of the house, that, during the last five minutes, he had been in some way powerfully impressed with a sense of our importance; and, in consequence, had consented to give up his parlor, which he had refused to all previous comers. I appreciated the courtesy, knowing from books how sacred in the eyes of all these northern races is the parlor—or best room—of the house.
The promised reward was slipped into the hand of the diplomatic head-porter. He smiled his thanks.
“You vill please be so goot to step out,” he then said, taking his hat off in the rain to mark his profound respect for us.
We observed that this act had its effect on the man who stood looking down from the piazza, for he bowed in sympathy.