He told the little porter about it, and when the little porter, who had been scared away from the Thropps and left to carry Charity Coe's dainty hand-bags, showed the big porter what he had received, still the big porter laughed. He knew how to live, that big porter.
Kedzie followed the little general up the steps and around to the desk. Her father realized that his fellow-passenger had been teasing him when he referred to this place as a boarding-house, but he was not at all crushed by the magnificence he was encountering. He felt that he was in for it—so he cocked his toothpick pluckily and wrote on the loose-leaf register the room clerk handed him:
A. Thropp, wife and daughter, Nimrim, Mo.
The room clerk read the name as if it were that of a potentate whose incognito he would respect, and murmured:
“About what accommodation would you want, Mr. Thropp?”
“Two rooms—one for the wife and m'self, one for the daughter.”
“Yes, sir. And about how much would you want to pay?”
“How do they run?”
“We can give you two nice adjoining rooms for twelve dollars—up.”
Mr. Thropp made a hasty calculation. Twelve dollars a week for board and lodging was not so bad. He nodded.