A Guest at the Ludlow, and Other Stories

  HINTS TO THE TRAVELER

  XX

  Every thinkful student has doubtless noticed that when he enters theoffice, or autograph department, of an American inn, a lithe and alertmale person seizes his valise or traveling-bag with much earnestness. Hethen conveys it to some sequestered spot and does not again return. Heis the porter of the hotel or inn. He may be a modest porter juststarting out, or he may be a swollen and purse-proud porter with silverin his hair and also in his pocket.

  I speak of the porter and his humble lot in order to show the averageAmerican boy who may read these lines that humor is not the only thingin America which yields large dividends on a very small capital. To be aporter does not require great genius, or education, or intellectualversatility; and yet, well attended to, the business is remunerative inthe extreme and often brings excellent returns. It shows that anyAmerican boy who does faithfully and well the work assigned to him maybecome well-to-do and prosperous.

  Recently I shook hands with a conductor on the Milwaukee and St. PaulRailroad, who is the president of a bank. There is a general impressionin the public mind that conductors all die poor, but here is "Jerry," aseverybody calls him, a man of forty-five years of age, perhaps, with along head of whiskers and the pleasant position of president of a bank.As he thoughtfully slams the doors from car to car, collecting fares onchildren who are no longer young and whose parents seek to conceal themunder the seats, or as he goes from passenger to passenger stickinglarge blue checks in their new silk hats, and otherwise taking advantageof people, he is sustained and soothed by the blessed thought that hehas done the best he could, and that some day when the summons comes tolay aside his loud-smelling lantern and make his last run, he will leavehis dear ones provided for. Perhaps I ought to add that during allthese years of Jerry's prosperity the road has also managed to keep thewolf from the door. I mention it because it is so rare for the conductorand the road to make money at the same time.

  I knew a conductor on the Union Pacific railroad, some years ago, whoused to make a great deal of money, but he did not invest wisely, and soto-day is not the president of a bank. He made a great deal of money inone way or another while on his run, but the man with whom he was wontto play poker in the evening is now the president of the bank. Theconductor is in the puree.

  It was in Minneapolis that Mr. Cleveland was once injudicious. He andhis wife were pained to read the following report of their conversationin the paper on the day after their visit to the flour city:

  "Yes, I like the town pretty well, but the people, some of 'em, are tooblamed fresh."

  "Do you think so, Grover? I thought they were very nice, indeed, butstill I think I like St. Paul the best. It is so old and respectable."

  "Oh, yes, respectability is good enough in its place, but it can beoverdone. I like Washington, where respectability is not made a hobby."

  "But are you not enjoying yourself here, honey?"

  "No, I am not. To tell you the truth, I am very unhappy. I'm so scaredfor fear I'll say something about the place that will be used against meby the St. Paul folks, that I most wish I was dead, and everybody wantsto show me the new bridge and the waterworks, and speak of 'our greatand phenomenal growth,' and show me the population statistics, and theschool-house, and the Washburn residence, and Doc Ames and OleForgerson, and the saw-mill, and the boom, and then walk me up into thethirteenth story of a flour mill and pour corn meal down my back, andshow me the wonderful increase of the city debt and the sewerage, andthe West Hotel, and the glorious ozone and things here, that it makes metired. And I have to look happy and shake hands and say it knocks St.Paul silly, while I don't think so at all, and I wish I could dosomething besides be president for a couple of weeks, and quit lyingalmost entirely, except when I go a-fishing."

  "But don't you think the people here are very cordial, dawling?"

  "Yes, they're too cordial for me altogether. Instead of talking aboutthe wonderful hit I have made as a president and calling attention to myremarkable administration, they talk about the flour output and theelectric plant and other crops here, and allude feelingly to 'number onehard' and chintz bugs and other flora and fauna of this country, which,to be honest with you, I do not and never did give a damn for."

  "Grover!"

  "Well, I beg your pardon, dear, and I oughtn't to speak that way beforeyou, but if you knew how much better I feel now you would not speak soharshly to me. It is indeed hard to be ever gay and joyous before thegreat masses who as a general thing, do not know enough to pound sand,but who are still vested with the divine right of suffrage, and so mustbe treated gently, and loved and smiled at till it makes me ache."

  Mr. Cleveland was greatly annoyed by the publication of thisconversation, and could not understand it until this fall, when aMinneapolis man told him that the pale, haughty coachman who drove thepresidential carriage was a reporter. He could handle a team with onehand and remember things with the other.

  And so I say that as a president we can not be too careful what we say.I hope that the little boys and girls who read this, and who mayhereafter become presidents or wives of presidents, will bear this inmind, and always have a kind word for one and all, whether they feelthat way or not.

  But I started out to speak of porters and not reporters. I carry withme, this year, a small, sorrel bag, weighing a little over twentyounces. It contains a slight bottle of horse medicine and a powder rag.Sometimes it also contains a costly robe de nuit, when I do not forgetand leave said robe in a sleeping car or hotel. I am not overdrawingthis matter, however, when I say honestly that the shrill cry of fire atnight in most any hotel in the United States would now bring to thefire-escape from one to six employes of said hotel wearing these costlyvestments with my brief but imperishable name engraven on the bosom.

  This little traveling bag, which is not larger than a man's hand, isrudely pulled out of my grasp as I enter an inn, and it has cost me $29to get it back again from the porter. Besides, I have paid $8.35 for newhandles to replace those that have been torn off in frantic scufflesbetween the porter and myself to see which would get away with it.

  Yesterday I was talking with a reformed lecturer about this peculiarityof the porters. He said he used to lecture a great deal at moderateprices throughout the country, and after ten years of earnest toil hewas enabled to retire with a rich experience and $9 in money. Helectured on phrenology and took his meals with the chairman of thelecture committee. In Ouray, Colorado, the baggageman allowed his trunkto fall from a great height, and so the lid was knocked off and the bustwhich the professor used in his lecture was busted. He therefore had toborrow a bald-headed man to act as bust for him in the evening. Afterthe close of the lecture the professor found that the bust had stolenthe gross receipts from his coat tail pocket while he was lecturing. Theonly improbable feature about this story is the implication that abald-headed man would commit a crime.

  But still he did not become soured. He pressed on and lectured to thegentle janitors of the land in piercing tones. He was always kind toevery one, even when people criticised his lecture and went away beforehe got through. He forgave them and paid his bills just the same as hedid when people liked him.

  Once a newspaper man did him a great wrong by saying that "the lecturewas decayed, and that the professor would endear himself to every oneif some night at his hotel, instead of blowing out the gas and turningoff his brains as he usually did, he would just turn off the gas andblow out his brains." But the professor did not go to the newspaperman's office and shoot holes in his person. He spoke kindly to himalways, and once when the two met in a barber shop, and it was doubtfulwhich was "next," as they came in from opposite ends of the room, theprofessor gently yielded the chair to the man who had done him the greatwrong, and while the barber was shaving him eleven tons of ceilingpeeled off and fell on the editor who had been so cruel and so rude, andwhen they gathered up the debris, a day or two afterward, it was almostimpossible to tell which was ceiling and which was remains.


  _He therefore had to borrow a bald-headed man to act asbust for him in the evening_ (Page 194)]

  So it is always best to deal gently with the erring, especially if youthink it will be fatal to them.

  The reformed lecturer also spoke of a discovery he made, which I hadnever heard of before. He began, during the closing years of his tour,to notice mysterious marks on his trunk, made with chalk generally, andso, during his leisure hours, he investigated them and their cause andeffect. He found that they were the symbols of the Independent Order ofPorters and Baggage Bursters. He discovered that it was a species oflanguage by which one porter informed the next, without the expense oftelegraphing, what style of man owned the trunk and the prospects for"touching" him, as one might say.

  The professor gave me a few of these signs from an old note-book,together with his own interpretation after years of close study. Ireproduce them here, because I know they will interest the reader asthey did me.

  This trunk, if handled gently and then carefully unstrapped in theowner's room, so as to open comfortably without bursting the wall orgiving the owner vertigo, is good for a quarter.

  This man is a good, kind-hearted man generally, but will sometimesescape. Better not let him have his hand baggage till he puts up.

  This trunk belongs to a woman who may possibly thank you if you handlethe baggage gently and will weep if you knock the lid off. Kind wordscan never die. (N. B. Nyether can they procure groceries.)

  This trunk belongs to a traveling man who weighs 211 pounds. If you haveno respect for the blamed old fire-proof safe itself, please respect itfor its gentle owner's sake. He can not bear to have his trunk harshlytreated, and he might so far forget himself as to kill you. It is betterto be alive and poor than it is to be wealthy and dead. It is better todo a kind act for a fellow-being than it is to leave a desirable widowfor some one else to marry.

  If you will knock the top off this trunk you will discover the clothingof a mean man. In case you can not knock the lid entirely off, burst itopen a little so that the great, restless, seething traveling public cansee how many hotel napkins and towels and cakes of soap he has stolen.

  This is the trunk of a young girl, and contains the poor but honest garbshe wore when she ran away from home. Also the gay clothes she boughtafter a wicked ambition had poisoned her simple heart. They are thegaudy garments and flashy trappings for which she exchanged her honestlaugh and her bright and beautiful youth. Handle gently the poor littletrunk, as you would touch her sad little history, for her father is inthe second-class coach, weeping softly into his coarse red handkerchief,and she, herself, is going home on the same train in her cheap littlecoffin in the baggage car to meet her sorrowing mother, who will go upinto the garret many rainy afternoons in the days to come, to cry overthis poor little trunk and no one will know about it. It will be asecret known only to her sorrowing heart and to God.