We'd wired ahead for rooms at the Alcazar, and when we landed in St.
Augustine they was a motor-bus from the hotel to meet us at the station.
"Southern hospitality," I says to the Wife, and we was both pleased till
they relieved us o' four bits apiece for the ride.
Well, they hadn't neither one of us slept good the night before, w'ile
we was joltin' through Georgia; so when I suggested a nap they wasn't no
argument.
"But our clo'es ought to be pressed," says the Missus. "Call up the
valet and have it done w'ile we sleep."
So I called up the valet, and sure enough, he come.
"Hello, George!" I says. "You see, we're goin' to lay down and take a
nap, and we was wonderin' if you could crease up these two suits and
have 'em back here by the time we want 'em."
"Certainly, sir," says he.
"And how much will it cost?" I ast him.
"One dollar a suit," he says.
"Are you on parole or haven't you never been caught?" says I.
"Yes, sir," he says, and smiled like it was a joke.
"Let's talk business, George," I says. "The tailor we go to on
Sixty-third walks two blocks to get our clo'es, and two blocks to take
'em to his joint, and two blocks to bring 'em back, and he only soaks us
thirty-five cents a suit."
"He gets poor pay and he does poor work," says the burglar. "When I
press clo'es I press 'em right."
"Well," I says, "the tailor on Sixty-third satisfies us. Suppose you
don't do your best this time, but just give us seventy cents' worth."
But they wasn't no chance for a bargain. He'd been in the business so
long he'd become hardened and lost all regard for his fellow men.
The Missus slept, but I didn't. Instead, I done a few problems in
arithmetic. Outside o' what she'd gave up for postcards and stamps in
Jacksonville, I'd spent two bucks for our lunch, about two more for my
shave and my refreshments, one for a rough ride in a bus, one more for
gettin' our trunk and grips carried round, two for havin' the clo'es
pressed, and about half a buck in tips to people that I wouldn't never
see again. Somewheres near nine dollars a day, not countin' no hotel
bill, and over two weeks of it yet to come!
Oh, you rummy game at home, at half a cent a point!
When our clo'es come back I woke her up and give her the figures.
"But to-day's an exception," she says. "After this our meals will be
included in the hotel bill and we won't need to get our suits pressed
only once a week and you'll be shavin' yourself and they won't be no bus
fare when we're stayin' in one place. Besides, we can practise economy
all spring and all summer."
"I guess we need the practise," I says.
"And if you're goin' to crab all the time about expenses," says she,
"I'll wish we had of stayed home."
"That'll make it unanimous," says I.
Then she begin sobbin' about how I'd spoiled the trip and I had to
promise I wouldn't think no more o' what we were spendin'. I might just
as well of promised to not worry when the White Sox lost or when I'd
forgot to come home to supper.
We went in the dinin'-room about six-thirty and was showed to a table
where they was another couple settin'. They was husband and wife, I
guess, but I don't know which was which. She was wieldin' the pencil and
writin' down their order.
"I guess I'll have clams," he says.
"They disagreed with you last night," says she.
"All right," he says. "I won't try 'em. Give me cream-o'-tomato soup."
"You don't like tomatoes," she says.
"Well, I won't have no soup," says he. "A little o' the blue-fish."
"The blue-fish wasn't no good at noon," she says. "You better try the
bass."
"All right, make it bass," he says. "And them sweet-breads and a little
roast beef and sweet potatoes and peas and vanilla ice-cream and
coffee."
"You wouldn't touch sweet-breads at home," says she, "and you can't tell
what they'll be in a hotel."
"All right, cut out the sweet-breads," he says.
"I should think you'd have the stewed chicken," she says, "and leave out
the roast beef."
"Stewed chicken it is," says he.
"Stewed chicken and mashed potatoes and string beans and buttered toast
and coffee. Will that suit you?"
"Sure!" he says, and she give the slip to the waiter.
George looked at it long enough to of read it three times if he could of
read it once and then went out in the kitchen and got a trayful o'
whatever was handy.
But the poor guy didn't get more'n a taste of anything. She was watchin'
him like a hawk, and no sooner would he delve into one victual than
she'd yank the dish away from him and tell him to remember that health
was more important than temporary happiness. I felt so sorry for him
that I couldn't enjoy my own repast and I told the Wife that we'd have
our breakfast apart from that stricken soul if I had to carry the case
to old Al Cazar himself.
In the evenin' we strolled acrost the street to the Ponce--that's
supposed to be even sweller yet than where we were stoppin' at. We
walked all over the place without recognizin' nobody from our set. I
finally warned the Missus that if we didn't duck back to our room I'd
probably have a heart attack from excitement; but she'd read in her
Florida guide that the decorations and pitchers was worth goin' miles to
see, so we had to stand in front o' them for a couple hours and try to
keep awake. Four or five o' them was thrillers, at that. Their names was
Adventure, Discovery, Contest, and so on, but what they all should of
been called was Lady Who Had Mislaid Her Clo'es.
The hotel's named after the fella that built it. He come from Spain and
they say he was huntin' for some water that if he'd drunk it he'd feel
young. I don't see myself how you could expect to feel young on water.
But, anyway, he'd heard that this here kind o' water could be found in
St. Augustine, and when he couldn't find it he went into the hotel
business and got even with the United States by chargin' five dollars a
day and up for a room.
Sunday mornin' we went in to breakfast early and I ast the head waiter
if we could set at another table where they wasn't no convalescent and
his mate. At the same time I give the said head waiter somethin' that
spoke louder than words. We was showed to a place way acrost the room
from where we'd been the night before. It was a table for six, but the
other four didn't come into our life till that night at supper.
Meanw'ile we went sight-seein'. We visited Fort Marion, that'd be a
great protection against the Germans, provided they fought with paper
wads. We seen the city gate and the cathedral and the slave market, and
then we took the boat over to Anastasia Island, that the ocean's on the
other side of it. This trip made me homesick, because the people that
was along with us on the boat looked just like the ones we'd often went
with to Michigan City on the Fourth o' July. The boat landed on the bay
side o' the island and from there we was drug over to the ocean side on
a horse car, the horse walkin' to one side o' the car instead of in
front, so's he wouldn't get ran over.
We stuck on the beach till dinner-time and then took the chariot back to
the pavilion on the bay side, where a whole family served the meal and
their pigs put on a cabaret. It was the best meal I had in dear old
Dixie--fresh oysters and chicken and mashed potatoes and gravy and fish
and pie. And they charged two bits a plate.
"Goodness gracious!" says the Missus, when I told her the price. "This
is certainly reasonable. I wonder how it happens."
"Well," I says, "the family was probably washed up here by the tide and
don't know they're in Florida."
When we got back to the hotel they was only just time to clean up and go
down to supper. We hadn't no sooner got seated when our table companions
breezed in. It was a man about forty-five, that looked like he'd made
his money in express and general haulin', and he had his wife along and
both their mother-in-laws. The shirt he had on was the one he'd started
from home with, if he lived in Yokohama. His womenfolks wore mournin'
with a touch o' gravy here and there.
"You order for us, Jake," says one o' the ladies.
So Jake grabbed the bill o' fare and his wife took the slip and pencil
and waited for the dictation.
"Let's see," he says. "How about oyster cocktail?"
"Yes," says the three Mrs. Black.
"Four oyster cocktails, then," says Jake, "and four orders o'
blue-points."
"The oysters is nice, too," says I.
They all give me a cordial smile and the ice was broke.
"Everything's good here," says Jake.
"I bet you know," I says.
He seemed pleased at the compliment and went on dictatin'.
"Four chicken soups with rice," he says, "and four o' the blue-fish and
four veal chops breaded and four roast chicken and four boiled
potatoes--"
But it seemed his wife would rather have sweet potatoes.
"All right," says Jake; "four boiled potatoes and four sweets. And
chicken salad and some o' that tapioca puddin' and ice-cream and tea. Is
that satisfactory?"
"Fine!" says one o' the mother-in-laws.
"Are you goin' to stay long?" says Mrs. Jake to my Missus.
The party addressed didn't look very clubby, but she was too polite to
pull the cut direct.
"We leave to-morrow night," she says.
Nobody ast her where we was goin'.
"We leave for Palm Beach," she says.
"That's a nice place, I guess," says one o' the old ones. "More people
goes there than comes here. It ain't so expensive there, I guess."
"You're some guesser," says the Missus and freezes up.