One cold and cloudy night I came into the village of Ugba and sought hospitality. There were few houses and fewer lights, and some feeling of awkwardness, or perhaps simply a stray fancy, prompted me to do an unusual thing—to beg hospitality at one of the luxurious villas. I had nearly always gone to the poor man's cottage rather than to the rich man's mansion, but this night, the opportunity offering, I appealed to the rich.
I came to the house of a rich man, and as I saw him standing in the light of a front window I called out to him from a distance. In the dusk he could not make out who I was, but judging by my voice he took me for an educated man, one of his own class.
"Can you put me up for the night?" I asked.
"Yes," he replied cheerfully. "Come round by the side of the house, otherwise the dogs may get in your way."
But when the rich man saw me on his threshold a cloud passed over his eyes and the welcome faded from his face. For I was dressed simply as a tramp and had feet so tired that I had not troubled to take the signs of travel from my garments. I had a great sack on my back, and in my hand a long staff.
The head of the house, a portly old gentleman with a long beard, interrogated me; his son, a limp smiling officer in white duck, peered over his shoulder; two or three others of the establishment looked on from various distances.
"What do you want?" asked the old gentleman curtly, as if he had not heard already.
"A lodging for the night," I said unhappily.
"You won't find lodging here," said the greybeard in a false stentorian voice. And the little officer in white giggled.
"You've made a mistake and come to the wrong house. We have no room."