"I am Mr. ——, Mr. Inman," said the man on the steps, and mentioned the name of the secretary with whom I had been in communication.
"Then who was that gentleman I have just left?" I asked, in surprise.
"That is the landlord of the hotel!" he explained.
Then, of course, I saw my mistake, and, when I met mine host again, hastened to make my apologies and patch things up as best I could. I am sure, however, that, deep down in his heart, my thoughtless words rankled. Both my wife and I took it in turns to praise everything whenever we saw him listening, but, alas! to the very end of our stay he wore a look of anxiety and care. Only when we stood on the deck of the little steamer and waved our farewells to him did the faintest suspicion of a smile flicker on his brown face. It may have been the fact that he was seeing the last of us that conjured the smile up, but I hope not.
One other little incident, and I have done. While playing at Kalgoorlie, Australia, I was approached by a resident and asked to call at his house to give a few lessons to his wife. The terms he offered were so high that I could not refuse, and so, when I had a few hours to spare, he and I went to his home.
I was introduced to his wife—a charming woman with all the true Colonial hospitality and kindliness—and we sat down in what was obviously the best room in the house and chatted for about half an hour. Finally, thinking that I ought to be up and doing something for my money, I suggested that, if the lady was quite ready, we ought to adjourn to the billiard-room, so that the lessons might commence.
"This is our billiard-room," said my host.
I looked round in amazement. "But where is the table?"
"THAT'S THE HOTEL YOU'RE GOING TO STAY AT."