"Well, you'd better exercise your legs down the stairs," he remarked;
"there's a wagonful of tourists at the front door."
"The deuce there is!"
"Look out of the window and then get a wiggle on."
Sure enough! From the window I beheld them. They already were
disembarking.
"Where's Thusis!" I exclaimed. "This is the limit. It's--it's a
confounded nuisance."
"Better go below, mine host," said Smith, resuming his recumbent
attitude on his bed and opening his book. He puffed at his pipe,
swatted a fly with a paper-knife, and looked at me.
"Mine host," he said, "you should greet your guests on the doorstep
wearing a napkin over one arm."