“It’s bean soup,” he gruffly replied.
“Never mind what it’s been—what is it now?” I asked a second time. A smile from my wife revealed to me my error, and I saved the astonished man the necessity of a reply.
At the table we were joined by an acquaintance, who informed me that he had great difficulty in obtaining admission to the house, as the innkeeper had a grudge against him.
“No matter what personal objection a host may have, he cannot refuse to receive a guest. Every one who opens an inn by the wayside, and professes to exercise the business and employment of a common innkeeper, is bound to afford such shelter and accommodation as he possesses to all travelers who apply therefor, and tender, or are able to pay, the customary charges,”[7] I remarked.
“But surely one is not bound to take the trouble to make an actual tender?” questioned my friend.
“I am not quite so sure on that point,” I replied. “Coleridge, J., once said that it is the custom so universal with innkeepers to trust that a person will pay before he leaves the inn, that it cannot be necessary for a guest to tender money before he enters.[8] But, in a subsequent case, Lord Abinger said that he could not agree with Coleridge’s opinion,[9] and three other judges concurred with Abinger, although the court was not called upon to decide the matter. In fact, the point has never been definitely settled in England. Text-writers, however, think an offer to pay requisite,[10] and it has been so held in Canada.”[11]
“But what,” said my friend, “if the proprietor is rude enough to slam the door in your face, and you cannot see even an open window?”
“Oh, in that case even Abinger would dispense with a tender.”[12]
“It seems hard that a man must admit every one into his house, whether he wishes or no,” said my wife.
“Reflect, my dear,” I replied, “that if an innkeeper was allowed to choose his guests and receive only those whom he saw fit, unfortunate travelers, although able and willing to pay for entertainment, might be compelled, through the mere caprice of the innkeeper, to wander about without shelter, exposed to the heats of summer, the rains of autumn, the snows of winter, or the winds of spring.”