“I should very much like to wash my hands,” I timidly ventured.
“You see very well I am using the basin. You go to the next car.”
I came to America this time with a large provision of philosophy, and quite determined to even enjoy such little scenes as this. So I quietly went to the next lavatory, returned to the dining-car, and sat down at one of the tables.
“Will you, please, give me a cup of tea?” I said to one of the colored waiters.
“I can’t do dat, sah,” said the negro. “You can have dinnah.”
“But I don’t want dinnah,” I replied; “I want a cup of tea.”
“Den you must ask dat gem’man if you can have it,” said he, pointing to the above mentioned “gentleman.”
I went to him.
“Excuse me,” said I, “are you the nobleman who runs this show?”
He frowned.