“No, my dear.”
“That we had better go to lunch.”
* * * * * *
As we were quietly sleeping the sleep of the wearied just that night, I was aroused by a noise at our window. In a moment or two it was opened, and then a man stealthily entered the room. I had not time to ask him what he wanted, for at the first sound of my voice he was off as quickly as if he had heard the click of a pistol. I made the window secure, and again entered dream-land. In the morning, as we donned the attire which Adam’s transgression has rendered necessary, my wife and myself conversed on the subject of the liability of an hotel-keeper for losses occurring to his guests from burglary.
“In Vermont, my dear,” I said, “it has been held that if the proprietor could show that the burglarious entry was under circumstances that absolved him from all blame, he would not be liable.[278] But that doctrine is not now followed.”[279]
“And what do the judges now say?”
“It was decided in this sunset State that although the point may be somewhat unsettled, yet still the true idea is to hold that innkeepers, like common carriers, are insurers of the property committed to their charge, and are bound to make restitution for any injury or loss not caused by the act of the Almighty, nor by a common enemy, nor by the neglect or default of the owner.”[280]
A fresh topic of conversation here suggesting itself to the active brain of Mrs. L., she launched out upon it con amore.
I found afterwards that I had not been the only object of the burglar’s attentions, for as I was sauntering along one of the corridors of the hotel I was accosted thus:
“I say, you walking digest of the law of inns and innkeepers, what’s the consequence if a guest is a little careless and loses his valuables?”