"No, Bill—no—not that. Well, for Heaven's sake! and I sat by him all evening braying like a jack. Bill—Bill, you won't ever tell this in Wichita, will you?"
So it must remain forever a secret!
That was a joyful hour for me, but the next day, Henry had his laugh. We came in from tea and found a card on the table in the snug little room near the elevator, which passes for a hotel office in London. The card was from Lord Bryce inviting us to tea the next afternoon. It fell to Henry's lot to go out for the day in the country, and to me to lunch with Granville Barker. So half-past four saw me rushing into the hotel from a taxi, which stood waiting outside, and throbbing up a two-pence every minute. Then this dialogue occurred.
From me: "Is Mr. Allen in his room?"
From the hall boy: "He is, sir; shall I go for him, sir?"
From me: "If you will, please, and tell him I'm in an ungodly hurry, and we have a taxi at the door chewing up money like a cornsheller!"
The hall boy had to find someone to go on watch. Time was moving. The tea was at five. The Bryce apartment was a mile away, and the chug of that taxi by the door moved me impulsively toward the elevator. But the elevator was still three steps away, when the manager of the hotel sauntered out from a side door, looked me over leisurely, and asked blandly:
"You'll be going to tea with Lord Bryce this afternoon—I presume!"
My hand was on the elevator button jabbing it fiercely, and my lips replied, "Yes—yes—say—Do you know whether Mr. Allen is in our room? It is getting late and he must hurry or—"
The manager continued to look me over still leisurely, then he smiled persuasively, but spoke firmly; realizing that something would have to be done for the good name of his hotel: "Well now, sir, you wouldn't be wearing those brown shoes to Lord Bryce's tea, would you, Mr. White?" And while that taxi ground out two shillings, black shoes slowly but nervously enveloped two Emporia feet, while Henry stood by and chortled in ghoulish Wichita glee!