He then remarked that he would not mind about the prices, if the landlord had allowed him to do a little business in the place.
“Your right to lodge and be fed in the house gives you no right to carry on trade here,”[60] I replied.
“One of the waiters threatened to kick me yesterday for doing business.”
“Oh, if you are assaulted by any of the servants, the proprietor is liable to you in damages, though he was not himself present at the time, or even consenting thereto,”[61] I returned. Then, fearing lest I might be nourishing a viper in the shape of a book-agent, or vendor of patent articles, I left the room, the words of the poet running through my brain:
“Society is now one polished horde,
Formed of two mighty tribes—the Bores and Bored.”
Chapter III.
ACCIDENTS, ROOMS, DOGS.
Next morning, as we were arranging whither we would wend our way, I proposed taking a bus. My wife remarked positively that she wished that I would not use that vulgar word. I returned:
“Humph! Did you ever hear the story about Lord Campbell and the omnibus?”
“What was it?” she asked.
“A lawyer while arguing before him continually spoke of a certain kind of carriage as ‘a brougham,’ (pronouncing both syllables) whereupon his lordship, with that pomposity for which he was rather noted, remarked that ‘broom’ was the more usual, and not incorrect, pronunciation; that such pronunciation was open to no grave objection, and had the great advantage of saving the time consumed by uttering an extra syllable. Shortly afterward Campbell spoke of an ‘omnibus.’ The counsel whom he had shortly before corrected, jumped up with such promptitude that the judge was startled into silence, exclaiming: ‘Pardon me, my Lord, the carriage to which you draw attention is usually called ‘a bus’: that pronunciation is open to no grave objection, and has the great advantage of saving the time consumed by uttering two extra syllables.’ You can easily draw the moral from that little tale, my dear.”