“But I thought you said this room was three for the night for three?”
“Oh, no—three dollars each per day. Two dollars each for the night. We always let it that way.”
“Oh, I see,” said Franklin, curiously. “You know what the night clerk said to me, do you?”
“I know the regular rate we charge for this room.”
For the fraction of a moment Franklin hesitated, then laid down a ten dollar bill.
“Why do you do that, Franklin?” I protested. “It isn’t fair. I wouldn’t. Let’s see the manager.”
“Oh, well,” he half whispered in weariness. “What can you do about it? They have you at their mercy.”
In the meantime, the clerk had slipped the bill in the drawer and handed back two-fifty in change.
“But, Franklin,” I exclaimed, “this is an outrage. This man doesn’t know anything about it, or if he does, he’s swindling. Why doesn’t he get the manager here if he’s on the level?”
This gentle clerk merely smiled at me. He had a comfortable, even cynical, grin on his face, which enraged me all the more.