The Stratford is a hotel for men only, and has the air of quietseclusion that usually is associated with a conservative club. Thelobby is small and far from ornate. The smoking-room is large andcomfortable. The dining-room is low-ceilinged and quaint,—a placewhere one can smoke comfortably,—and the kitchen produces viands thatare worth a special trip to taste. Altogether, the Stratford is aplace for those who want comfort, quiet, and the best of everything.
James Craig, from his air of well-being, had enjoyed it to the full.An hour before, he had arisen from his table with that sensation ofinternal comfort that can come only from a well-ordered andwell-cooked meal. He had chosen a cigar with discrimination, andlighted it with care. He had spent possibly twenty minutes or more inthe smoking-room, idling over his newspaper in comfortable repletion,and then had scribbled a note at a writing-desk. With the methodicalair of one to whom life is an excuse for the perpetration ofsystematic actions, he drew out a small notebook and extracted astamp. He affixed the stamp and made a note in the book. It read:
| Postage on letter to firm | $ .02 |
The note was just beneath three others:
| Dinner | $3.45 |
| Tip | .25 |
| Cigar | .25 |
He reached toward a button to summon a bell-boy, and then changed hismind. It was almost possible to read his thoughts by his actions. Heglanced out of the window nearby, and saw the last golden rays of theevening sun striking upon street and passersby. One who watched himwould have guessed at his mental processes so:—
“I’ll have a bell-boy mail this.... No.... This is a beautiful day....A walk after dinner will do me good.... I’ll stroll out and mail it,or stroll out, anyway....”
He tucked the envelope carefully in his pocket, rose, and saunteredout of the doorway. He moved slowly, carelessly, idling with therelish of a man who finds little time to idle.
He was gone for less than ten minutes altogether. When he came back inthe door and passed through the lobby his expression had grown subtlymore content. The ten-minutes’ exercise had “shaken down” his dinner,his cigar had proved all that the brand warranted, and he was at peacewith the world. As he made his way into the elevator he was evenhumming a little.
“Three,” he commented, as the car shot upward. “By the way, is there agood show in town tonight?”
“Yessuh, Ah reg’n so. Dey usual’ is. Y’might ax at de desk.”
The elevator-door clanged open at the third floor and he went out. Theelevator-boy saw him fitting a key into the lock of his room. He wasstill humming. The elevator-door shut, and the cage dropped to thelobby floor again.
“Gosh,” said the elevator-boy to his confrére, the chief bell-hop.“Dem trabelin’ men sho’ has it easy. Dey goes to de shows an’ jes’chahges it in d’ expense account. Y’ bettuh tote out half a pint. Disgen’leman in three-eighty looks lak he mought be intrusted.”
The chief bell-hop rose.
“Bress Gawd fo’ Prohibition,” he commented piously. “Ef t’wasn’t fo’de law, us hotel-help would hab t’ live on ouah tips.”
He sauntered into a small private closet and a little later steppedbriskly up the stairs. It was certainly not more than two minutes fromthe time the elevator-boy saw Craig unlock the door, humming a little,to the time the bell-hop knocked softly. But where the elevat