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Updated: June 19, 2025
Before she recovered from her start of amaze he had stripped off her glove. "Fine spark, but no wedding-ring," he drawled. "Lady, I'm glad to see you're not married." He released her hand and returned the glove. "You see, the only ho-tel in this here town is against boarding married women." "Indeed?" said Madeline, trying to adjust her wits to the situation. "It sure is," he went on.
She likes to have him around till she leans ag'in' him and rubs the paint off, then she's out shootin' eyes at another one." "Are there others besides Jedlick?" "That bartender boards there at the ho-tel. He's got four gold teeth, and he picks 'em with a quill. Sounds like somebody slappin' the crick with a fishin'-pole.
She was a widow woman, an' ever since she died, a couple of months ago, Lee's been playin' the big man, spendin' the old lady's money, and enjoyin' himself. Did you see that hoss'n'-buggy hitched in front of the ho-tel?" "Yes." "Well, that's Lee's buggy. He hires it from us. We send it up every mornin' at nine o'clock, when Lee gits up.
I was a little boy and I climed up on the porch bannisters and sat there and lissen' to that music." "I remember another big man come here once when I was a boy and I served the transient trade at a little eatin' place right where the Atkin Ho-tel is now. Jeff Davis come there to eat, when he stopped over between trains. That was in 1869. No, I disremember what he eat or how he behave.
Never did fish, flesh, or fowl taste so good, and we felt compelled to apologize to the steward for the emptiness of the dishes he carried away. However, he did not appear astonished, as the bill of fare at the "Ho-tel" was well known. It was Thursday morning before all the freight was stowed away and we could leave the landing or "Fisher's," as habitues of the road call it.
"I reckon it kin be did," he allowed. "I reckon a ho-tel man's got a right to rent his hull house ary minute." "Of course he has. How much do you want?" Uncle Billy had made one mistake in not asking this sort of folks enough, and he reflected in perplexity. "Make me a offer," he proposed. "Ef it hain't enough I'll tell ye. You want to rent th' hull place, back lot an' all?"
I don't suppose there's a man there that don't own his own house. There's Mel Parraday, who owns the ho-tel; and Lem Pinney that owns stock in this very steamboat comp'ny; and Walkworthy Dexter Walky's done expressin' and stage-drivin' since before my 'Rill come here to Poketown to teach." "But but they look so ragged and unshaven," gasped Janice.
The hotel is the Vesuve, not the Vesuvius." "What's the difference?" "I don't know." "All right; you girls just hop in, and leave the rest to me." He tumbled them all into the vehicle, bag and baggage, and then said sternly to the driver: "Ho-tel Ve-suve Ve-suve ho-tel Ve-suve! Drive there darned quick, or I'll break your confounded neck." The carriage started.
This intelligence was given us by a rakish-looking Yankee, who added that his "Ho-tel" was the best in the place, and if we would come "right along" he would give us rooms for the night. Gathering up our traps, and thinking we could not do much worse than remain in the crowded car all night, we followed, paddling through the mud to the much-boasted "Ho-tel."
"You wouldn't feel it so, if ye hadn't been too 'tarnal lazy to change yer seat," sniffed his wife. "Now, you mind, Jase! That board money comes to me, or you can take Broxton's gal to the ho-tel." Mr. Day shambled out of the front gate without making reply. "Drat the man!" muttered his wife. "If I could jes' git a rise out o' him onc't " It was not far to the dock.
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