His wife and daughter hung back to avoid being spattered with the gore of the unfortunate hotel clerk. The morning trains were unloading their mobs, and it was difficult to reach the desk at all.
When finally Adna got to the bar he had lost some of his running start. With somewhat weakly anger he said to the first clerk he reached:
“Looky here! I registered here last night, and another young feller was here said the two rooms would be twelve dollars.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, they sent me up to roost on a cloud, but I didn't kick. Now they're tryin' to charge me for meals extry. Don't that twelve dollars include meals?”
“Oh no, sir. The hotel is on the European plan.”
Adna took the shock bravely but bitterly: “Well, all I got to say is the Europeans got mighty poor plans. I kind of suspicioned there was a ketch in it somewheres. After this we'll eat outside, and at the end of the week we'll take our custom somewheres else. Maybe there was a joke in that twelve dollars a week for the rooms, too.”
“Twelve dollars a week! Oh no, sir; the charge is by the day.”
Adna's knees seemed to turn to sand and run down into his shoes. He supported himself on his elbows.
“Twelve dollars a day—for those two rooms on the top of the moon?”