II.—The Joys of Philanthropy
"GOOD-MORNING," said the valet de chambre, as I stepped from my room.
"Good-morning," I answered. "Pray accept twenty-five centimes."
"Good-morning, sir," said the maître d'hôtel, as I passed down the corridor, "a lovely morning, sir."
"So lovely," I replied, "that I must at once ask you to accept forty-five centimes on the strength of it."
"A beautiful day, monsieur," said the head waiter, rubbing his hands, "I trust that monsieur has slept well."
"So well," I answered, "that monsieur must absolutely insist on your accepting seventy-five centimes on the spot. Come, don't deny me. This is personal matter. Every time I sleep I simply have to give money away."
"Monsieur is most kind."
Kind? I should think not. If the valet de chambre and the maître d'hôtel and the chef de service and the others of the ten men needed to supply me with fifteen cents worth of coffee, could read my heart, they would find it an abyss of the blackest hatred.
