The
man said, well, they did not much expect transients; it was more of
a family-hotel, like; but he guessed they had a vacancy, and they
could put him up. He brushed his shirt sleeves down with his hands,
and looked apologetically at some ashes on his trousers, and said,
well, it was not much use trying to put on style, anyway, when you
were taking care of a furnace and had to run the elevator yourself,
and look after the whole concern. He said his aunt mostly looked
after letting the rooms, but she was at church, and he guessed he
should have to see about it himself. He bade Lemuel just get right
into the elevator, and he put his bag into a cage that hung in one
corner of the hallway, and pulled at the wire rope, and they mounted
together. On the way up he had time to explain that the clerk, who
usually ran the elevator when they had no elevator-boy, had kicked,
and they were just between hay and grass, as you might say. He
showed Lemuel into a grandiose parlour or drawing-room, enormously
draped and upholstered, and furnished in a composite application of
yellow jute and red plush to the ashen easy-chairs and sofa. A
folding-bed in the figure of a chiffonier attempted to occupy the
whole side of the wall and failed.
"I'm afraid it's more than I can pay," said Lemuel. "I guess I
better see some other room." But the man said the room belonged to a
boarder that had just gone, and he guessed they would not charge him
very much for it; he guessed Lemuel had better stay.
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