"I thought so, but perhaps I didn't make myself as clear as I might. Your good nature, however, emboldens me to respectfully suggest'—and this I said in the most tender and convincing manner I could employ—'that for the sake of art and good fellowship, for this little extra hospitality you make no addition to the hotel bill. Let it stand as it is.'"
"What!" exclaimed Fogg, in open-mouthed wonder. "Did he show you the door?"
"Not a bit of it. I told you he was a plain, practical kind of cuss, with a tender spot in his heart. He looked at me with a calm, queer, but not mischievous twinkle in his eye. I stood the gaze with the most innocent assumption of impudence, waiting for the verdict. It came in a moment, accompanied with a hearty laugh as he said: 'By jingo, you deserve to get ahead! You won't fail for want of nerve. It's your long suit. I'll have to go you,' or words to that effect. 'Come,' he said, rising from his chair, 'I'll blow you off,' and he led the way to the bar."
"You don't mean to say he stood treat into the bargain?" asked Fogg, in surprise.
"Sure; like a prince, he did; and what's more, he made the remainder of the day as pleasant as if every member of the company was a first-floorer, paying bridal-party rates.
"That little episode made me very solid with my company. They knew the actual condition of the exchequer, for obvious reasons, and wondered how I was able to make things all right without the necessary wherewithal. That's management, my boy. They never considered for the life of them, that three-fourths or more of the business of the world is managed and conducted on credit and promises to pay. I was merely working out the principle in my own little bit of a way. So the day passed agreeably. The people knew that everything in the hotel was all right and that I had the railroad fares snugly stowed away in my inside pocket."