‘Why didn’t you have the new cab come back for you?’
‘Oh, that is what I did! I remember now. Yes, that is what I did.
Because I recollect that when I——’
‘Well, then, why didn’t it come back for you?’
‘To the Post Office? Why, it did.’
‘Very well, then, how did you come to walk to the pension?’
‘I—I don’t quite remember how that happened. Oh, yes, I do remember now.
I wrote the despatch to send to the Netherlands, and——’
‘Oh, thank goodness, you did accomplish something! I wouldn’t have had
you fail to send——What makes you look like that? You are trying to avoid
my eye. That despatch is the most important thing that——You haven’t sent
that despatch!’
‘I haven’t said I didn’t send it.’
‘You don’t need to. Oh, dear, I wouldn’t have had that telegram fail for
anything. Why didn’t you send it?’
‘Well, you see, with so many things to do and think of, I—they’re very
particular there, and after I had written the telegram——’
‘Oh, never mind, let it go, explanations can’t help the matter now—what
will he think of us?’
‘Oh, that’s all right, that’s all right! He’ll think we gave the
telegram to the hotel people, and that they——’
‘Why, certainly! Why didn’t you do that? There was no other rational
way.’
‘Yes, I know, but then I had it on my mind that I must be sure and get
to the bank and draw some money——’
‘Well, you are entitled to some credit, after all, for thinking of that,
and I don’t wish to be too hard on you, though you must acknowledge
yourself that you have cost us all a good deal of trouble, and some of
it not necessary. How much did you draw?’
‘Well, I—I had an idea that—that——’
‘That what?’
‘That—well, it seems to me that in the circumstances—so many of us, you
know, and—and——’
‘What are you mooning about? Do turn your face this way and let me——Why,
you haven’t drawn any money!’
‘Well, the banker said——’
‘Never mind what the banker said. You must have had a reason of your
own. Not a reason, exactly, but something which——’
‘Well, then, the simple fact was that I hadn’t my letter of credit.’
‘Hadn’t your letter of credit?’
‘Hadn’t my letter of credit.’
‘Don’t repeat me like that. Where was it?’
‘At the Post Office.’
‘What was it doing there?’
‘Well, I forgot it, and left it there.’
‘Upon my word, I’ve seen a good many couriers, but of all the couriers
that ever I——’
‘I’ve done the best I could.’
‘Well, so you have, poor thing, and I’m wrong to abuse you so when
you’ve been working yourself to death while we’ve been sitting here,
only thinking of our vexations instead of feeling grateful for what you
were trying to do for us. It will all come out right. We can take the
7.30 train in the morning just as well. You’ve bought the tickets?’
‘I have—and it’s a bargain, too. Second class.’
‘I’m glad of it. Everybody else travels second class, and we might just
as well save that ruinous extra charge. What did you pay?’
‘Twenty-two dollars apiece—through to Bayreuth.’
‘Why, I didn’t know you could buy through tickets anywhere but in London
and Paris.’
‘Some people can’t, maybe; but some people can—of whom I am one of
which, it appears.’
‘It seems a rather high price.’
‘On the contrary, the dealer knocked off his commission.’
‘Dealer?’
‘Yes—I bought them at a cigar shop.’
‘That reminds me. We shall have to get up pretty early, and so there
should be no packing to do. Your umbrella, your rubbers, your
cigars——What is the matter?’
‘Hang it! I’ve left the cigars at the bank.’
‘Just think of it! Well, your umbrella?’
‘I’ll have that all right. There’s no hurry.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Oh, that’s all right; I’ll take care of——’
‘Where is that umbrella?’
‘It’s just the merest step—it won’t take me——’
‘Where is it?’
‘Well, I think I left it at the cigar shop; but any way——’
‘Take your feet out from under that thing. It’s just as I expected!
Where are your rubbers?’
‘They—well——’
‘Where are your rubbers?’
‘It’s got so dry now—well, everybody says there’s not going to be
another drop of——’
‘Where—are—your—rubbers?’
‘Well, you see—well, it was this way. First, the officer said——’
‘What officer?’
‘Police officer; but the Mayor, he——’
‘What Mayor?’
‘Mayor of Geneva; but I said——’
‘Wait. What is the matter with you?’
‘Who, me? Nothing. They both tried to persuade me to stay, and——’
‘Stay where?’
‘Well—the fact is——’
‘Where have you been? What’s kept you out till half past ten at night?’
‘Oh, you see, after I lost my letter of credit, I——’
‘You are beating around the bush a good deal. Now, answer the question
in just one straightforward word. Where are those rubbers?’
‘They—well, they’re in the county jail.’
I started a placating smile, but it petrified. The climate was
unsuitable. Spending three or four hours in jail did not seem to the
Expedition humorous. Neither did it to me, at bottom.
I had to explain the whole thing, and of course it came out then that we
couldn’t take the early train, because that would leave my letter of
credit in hock still. It did look as if we had all got to go to bed
estranged and unhappy, but by good luck that was prevented. There
happened to be mention of the trunks, and I was able to say I had
attended to that feature.
‘There, you are just as good and thoughtful and painstaking and
intelligent as you can be, and it’s a shame to find so much fault with
you, and there shan’t be another word of it! You’ve done beautifully,
admirably, and I’m sorry I ever said one ungrateful word to you.’
This hit deeper than some of the other things, and made me
uncomfortable, because I wasn’t feeling as solid about that trunk errand
as I wanted to. There seemed, somehow, to be a defect about it
somewhere, though I couldn’t put my finger on it, and didn’t like to
stir the matter just now, it being late and maybe well enough to let
well enough alone.
Of course there was music in the morning, when it was found that we
couldn’t leave by the early train. But I had no time to wait; I got only
the opening bars of the overture, and then started out to get my letter
of credit.
It seemed a good time to look into the trunk business and rectify it if
it needed it, and I had a suspicion that it did. I was too late. The
concierge said he had shipped the trunks to Zurich the evening before. I
asked him how he could do that without exhibiting passage tickets.
‘Not necessary in Switzerland. You pay for your trunks and send them
where you please. Nothing goes free but your hand baggage.’
‘How much did you pay on them?’
‘A hundred and forty francs.’
‘Twenty-eight dollars. There’s something wrong about that trunk
business, sure.’
Next I met the porter. He said:
‘You have not slept well, is it not? You have the worn look. If you
would like a courier, a good one has arrived last night, and is not
engaged for five days already, by the name of Ludi. We recommend him;
“das heisst,” the Grande Hotel Beau Rivage recommends him.’
I declined with coldness. My spirit was not broken yet. And I did not
like having my condition taken notice of in this way. I was at the
county jail by nine o’clock, hoping that the Mayor might chance to come
before his regular hour; but he didn’t. It was dull there. Every time I
offered to touch anything, or look at anything, or do anything, or
refrain from doing anything, the policeman said it was ‘defendu.’ I
thought I would practise my French on him, but he wouldn’t have that
either. It seemed to make him particularly bitter to hear his own
tongue.
The Mayor came at last, and then there was no trouble; for the minute he
had convened the Supreme Court—which they always do whenever there is
valuable property in dispute—and got everything shipshape, and sentries
posted, and had prayer, by the chaplain, my unsealed letter was brought
and opened, and there wasn’t anything in it but some photographs:
because, as I remembered now, I had taken out the letter of credit so as
to make room for the photographs, and had put the letter in my other
pocket, which I proved to everybody’s satisfaction by fetching it out
and showing it with a good deal of exultation. So then the court looked
at each other in a vacant kind of way, and then at me, and then at each
other again, and finally let me go, but said it was imprudent for me to
be at large, and asked me what my profession was. I said I was a
courier. They lifted up their eyes in a kind of reverent way and said,
‘Du lieber Gott!’ and I said a word of courteous thanks for their
apparent admiration and hurried off to the bank.
However, being a courier was already making me a great stickler for
order and system and one thing at a time and each thing in its own
proper turn; so I passed by the bank and branched off and started for
the two lacking members of the Expedition. A cab lazied by and I took it
upon persuasion. I gained no speed by this, but it was a reposeful turn
out and I liked reposefulness. The week-long jubilations over the
six-hundredth anniversary of the birth of Swiss liberty and the Signing
of the Compact was at flood tide, and all the streets were clothed in
fluttering flags.
The horse and the driver had been drunk three days and nights, and had
known no stall nor bed meantime. They looked as I felt—dreamy and seedy.
But we arrived in course of time. I went in and rang, and asked a
housemaid to rush out the lacking members. She said something which I
did not understand, and I returned to the chariot. The girl had probably
told me that those people did not belong on her floor, and that it would
be judicious for me to go higher, and ring from floor to floor till I
found them; for in those Swiss flats there does not seem to be any way
to find the right family but to be patient and guess your way along up.
I calculated that I must wait fifteen minutes, there being three details
inseparable from an occasion of this sort: 1, put on hats and come down
and climb in; 2, return of one to get ‘my other glove’; 3, presently,
return of the other one to fetch ‘my French Verbs at a Glance.’ I would
muse during the fifteen minutes and take it easy.
A very still and blank interval ensued, and then I felt a hand on my
shoulder and started. The intruder was a policeman. I glanced up and
perceived that there was new scenery. There was a good deal of a crowd,
and they had that pleased and interested look which such a crowd wears
when they see that somebody is out of luck. The horse was asleep, and so
was the driver, and some boys had hung them and me full of gaudy
decorations stolen from the innumerable banner poles. It was a
scandalous spectacle. The officer said:
‘I’m sorry, but we can’t have you sleeping here all day.’