Well! Well!
Whatever has been happening to this place, to New York? Changed? Changed
since I was here in ‘86? Well, I should say so.
The hack-driver of the old days that I used to find waiting for me at
the station curb, with that impossible horse of his--the hack-driver
with his bulbous red face, and the nice smell of rye whisky all ‘round
him for yards--gone, so it seems, for ever.
And in place of him this--what is it they call it?--taxi, with a
clean-shaven cut-throat steering it. “Get in,” he says, Just that. He
doesn’t offer to help me or lift my satchel. All right, young man, I’m
crawling in.
That’s the machine that marks it, eh? I suppose they have them rigged up
so they can punch up anything they like. I thought so--he hits it up to
fifty cents before we start. But I saw him do it. Well, I can stand for
it this time. I’ll not be caught in one of these again.
The hotel? All right, I’m getting out. My hotel? But what is it they
have done to it? They must have added ten stories to it. It reaches
to the sky. But I’ll not try to look to the top of it. Not with this
satchel in my hand: no, sir! I’ll wait till I’m safe inside. In there
I’ll feel all right. They’ll know me in there. They’ll remember right
away my visit in the fall of ‘86. They won’t easily have forgotten
that big dinner I gave--nine people at a dollar fifty a plate, with the
cigars extra. The clerk will remember _me_, all right.
Know me? Not they. The _clerk_ know me! How could he? For it seems now
there isn’t any clerk, or not as there used to be. They have subdivided
him somehow into five or six. There is a man behind a desk, a majestic
sort of man, waving his hand. It would be sheer madness to claim
acquaintance with him. There is another with a great book, adjusting
cards in it; and another, behind glass labelled “Cashier,” and busy as
a bank; there are two with mail and telegrams. They are all too busy to
know me.
Shall I sneak up near to them, keeping my satchel in my hand? I wonder,
do they _see_ me? _Can_ they see me, a mere thing like me? I am within
ten feet of them, but I am certain that they cannot see me. I am, and I
feel it, absolutely invisible.
Ha! One has seen me. He turns to me, or rather he rounds upon me, with
the words “Well, sir?” That, and nothing else, sharp and hard. There is
none of the ancient kindly pretence of knowing my name, no reaching
out a welcome hand and calling me Mr. Er--Er--till he has read my name
upside down while I am writing it and can address me as a familiar
friend. No friendly questioning about the crops in my part of the
country. The crops, forsooth! What do these young men know about crops?
A room? Had I any reservation? Any which? Any reservation. Oh, I see,
had I written down from home to say that I was coming? No, I had not
because the truth is I came at very short notice. I didn’t know till a
week before that my brother-in-law--He is not listening. He has moved
away. I will stand and wait till he comes back. I am intruding here; I
had no right to disturb these people like this.
Oh, I can have a room at eleven o’clock. When it is which?--is vacated.
Oh, yes, I see, when the man in it gets up and goes away. I didn’t for
the minute catch on to what the word--He has stopped listening.
Never mind, I can wait. From eight to eleven is only three hours,
anyway. I will move about here and look at things. If I keep moving they
will notice me less. Ha! books and news papers and magazines--what a
stack of them! Like a regular book-store. I will stand here and take
a look at some of them. Eh! what’s that? Did I want to _buy_ anything?
Well, no, I hadn’t exactly--I was just--Oh, I see, they’re on _sale_.
All right, yes, give me this one--fifty cents--all right--and this and
these others. That’s all right, miss, I’m not stingy. They always say of
me up in our town that when I--She has stopped listening.
Never mind. I will walk up and down again with the magazines under my
arm. That will make people think I live here. Better still if I could
put the magazines in my satchel. But how? There is no way to set it down
and undo the straps. I wonder if I could dare put it for a minute on
that table, the polished one--? Or no, they wouldn’t likely allow a man
to put a bag _there_.
Well, I can wait. Anyway, it’s eight o’clock and soon, surely, breakfast
will be ready. As soon as I hear the gong I can go in there. I wonder
if I could find out first where the dining-room is. It used always to
be marked across the door, but I don’t seem to see it. Darn it, I’ll ask
that man in uniform. If I’m here prepared to spend my good money to get
breakfast I guess I’m not scared to ask a simple question of a man in
uniform. Or no, I’ll not ask _him_. I’ll try this one--or no, he’s busy.
I’ll ask this other boy. Say, would you mind, if you please, telling me,
please, which way the dining-room--Eh, what? Do I want which? The grill
room or the palm room? Why, I tell you, young man, I just wanted to
get some breakfast if it’s--what? Do I want what? I didn’t quite get
that--_a la carte_? No, thanks--and, what’s that? table de what? in the
palm room? No, I just wanted--but it doesn’t matter. I’ll wait ‘round
here and look about till I hear the gong. Don’t worry about me.
What’s that? What’s that boy shouting out--that boy with the tray? A
call for Mr. Something or Other--say, must be something happened pretty
serious! A call for Mr.--why, that’s for me! Hullo! _Here I am! Here,
it’s Me! Here I am_--wanted at the desk? all right, I’m coming, I’m
hurrying. I guess something’s wrong at home, eh! _Here I am_. That’s my
name. I’m ready.
Oh, a room. You’ve got a room for me. All right. The fifteenth floor!
Good heavens! Away up there! Never mind, I’ll take it. Can’t give me a
bath? That’s all right. I had one.
Elevator over this way? All right, I’ll come along. Thanks, I can carry
it. But I don’t see any elevator? Oh, this door in the wall? Well! I’m
hanged. This the elevator! It certainly has changed. The elevator that
I remember had a rope in the middle of it, and you pulled the rope up as
you went, wheezing and clanking all the way to the fifth floor. But this
looks a queer sort of machine. How do you do--Oh, I beg your pardon. I
was in the road of the door, I guess. Excuse me, I’m afraid I got in the
way of your elbow. It’s all right, you didn’t hurt--or, not bad.
Gee whiz! It goes fast. Are you sure you can stop it? Better be careful,
young man. There was an elevator once in our town that--fifteenth floor?
All right.
This room, eh! Great Scott, it’s high up. Say, better not go too near
that window, boy. That would be a hell of a drop if a feller fell out.
You needn’t wait. Oh, I see. I beg your pardon. I suppose a quarter is
enough, eh?
Well, it’s a relief to be alone. But say, this is high up! And what a
noise! What is it they’re doing out there, away out in the air, with all
that clatter--building a steel building, I guess. Well, those fellers
have their nerve, all right. I’ll sit further back from the window.
It’s lonely up here. In the old days I could have rung a bell and had a
drink sent up to the room; but away up here on the fifteenth floor!
Oh, no, they’d never send a drink clean up to the fifteenth floor. Of
course, in the old days, I could have put on my canvas slippers and
walked down to the bar and had a drink and talked to the bar-tender.
But of course they wouldn’t have a bar in a place like this. I’d like
to go down and see, but I don’t know that I’d care to ask, anyway. No, I
guess I’ll just sit and wait. Some one will come for me, I guess, after
a while.
If I were back right now in our town, I could walk into Ed Clancey’s
restaurant and have ham and eggs, or steak and eggs, or anything, for
thirty-five cents.
Our town up home is a peach of a little town, anyway.
Say, I just feel as if I’d like to take my satchel and jump clean out of
that window. It would be a good rebuke to them.
But, pshaw! what would _they_ care?