CHAPTER XVI
THE EXODUS
Never had Mr. Cone put in such a summer! The lines in his foreheadlooked as if they had been made with a harrow and there were times whenhis eyes had the expression of a hunted animal. Pacifying disgruntledguests was now as much a part of the daily routine as making out themenus. In the halcyon days when a guest had a complaint, he made itaside, delicately, as a suggestion. Now he made a point of dressing Mr.Cone down publicly. In truth, baiting the landlord seemed to be in thenature of a recreation with the guests of The Colonial. Threats to leavewere of common occurrence, and Mr. Cone longed to be once more in aposition to tell them calmly to use their own pleasure in the matter.But what with high taxes, excessive wages, extensive improvements stillto be paid for, prudence kept him silent.
The only way in which he could explain the metamorphosis was that theguests were imbued with the spirit of discontent that prevailedthroughout the world in the years following the war. The theory did notmake his position easier, however, nor alter the fact that he all butfell to trembling when a patron approached to leave his key or get adrink of ice water at the cooler.
As he lay awake wondering what next they would find to complain of, heframed splendid answers, dignified yet stinging, but when the time cameto use them he remembered his expenses and his courage always failedhim.
In his heart, he felt that this could not go on forever--some daysomeone would speak just the right word and he would surprise them. Hehad come to listen with comparative equanimity to the statement that hishotel was badly managed, the service poor, and the food the worst servedon the beach-front, but there was the very strong possibility thatsomeone would inadvertently touch a sensitive nerve and he would "flyoff the handle." When that happened, Mr. Cone dreaded the outcome.
Such were conditions at The Colonial when the folders arrived announcingthe opening of the Lolabama Ranch to tourists--the name meaning HappyWigwam. Messrs. Macpherson and Fripp, it stated, were booking guests forthe remainder of the season and urged those who had a taste for theGreat Outdoors to consider what they had to offer. The folders created asensation. They came in the morning after a night of excessive heat andhumidity. The guests found them in their mail when, fishy-eyed andirritable, they went in to breakfast.
A new elevator boy who had jarred them by the violence of his stops hadnot improved their tempers, therefore few of them failed to comment toMr. Cone upon the increasing wretchedness of the service.
While they fanned themselves and prophesied a day that was going to be a"scorcher" they read of a country where the nights were so cool thatblankets were necessary, where the air was so invigorating that langourwas unheard of, with such a variety of scenery that the eye neverwearied. There were salt baths that made the old young again, big gamein the mountains for the adventurous, fishing, with bait in untoldquantities, saddle-horses for equestrians, innumerable walks forpedestrians, an excellent table provided with the best the marketoffered, and, finally, a tour of the Yellowstone Park under the personalguidance of the hosts of The Lolabama in a stage-coach drawn by fourhorses, by motor, or on horseback as suited their pleasure.
Small wonder that life on The Colonial veranda suddenly looked tameafter reading the folder and studying the pictures! Their discontenttook the form of an increasing desire to nag Mr. Cone. Vaguely they heldhim responsible for the heat, the humidity, the monotony of the ocean,and their loss of appetite due to lack of exercise.
On an impulse, Mr. Henry Appel, after consulting with his wife, got upabruptly and went inside for the purpose of having a plain talk with Mr.Cone.
Mr. Cone, who was making out the weekly bills, pretended not to see himuntil he cleared his throat and said very distinctly:
"May I have your attention, Mr. Cone?"
Quaking, Mr. Cone stepped forward briskly and apologized.
Ignoring the apology, Mr. Appel began impressively:
"You cannot have failed to see, Mr. Cone, that my wife and I have beenthoroughly dissatisfied this summer, as we have been at no great painsto conceal it. We have been coming here for twenty-two seasons, but wefeel that we cannot put up with things any longer and are hereby givingyou notice that next Thursday our room will be at your disposal."
"Is it anything in particular--anything which I can remedy? Perhaps youwill reconsider." Mr. Cone pleaded, looking from one to the other.
"Last night--at dinner"--Mrs. Appel eyed him accusingly--"I found--aneyewinker--in the hard sauce."
Mr. Cone stammered:
"I'm v-very sorry--it was not my eyewinker--such things will happen--Iwill speak to the pastry cook and ask him to be careful----"
Mr. Budlong, who had come in to lay his grievance before Mr. Cone,interrupted:
"For two mornings Mrs. Budlong and myself have been awakened by the manwith the vacuum cleaner who has wanted to work in our room before wewere out of it. I should judge," he said, acidly, "that you recruit yourservants from the Home for the Feeble-minded, and, personally, I am sickof it!"
"It is almost impossible to get competent help," Mr. Cone protested."The man shall be discharged and I promise you no further annoyance."
Mr. Budlong, nudged by his wife, was not to be placated.
"Our week is up Monday, and we are leaving."
Miss Mattie Gaskett, encouraged by the conversation to which she hadlistened, declared with asperity:
"There has been fuzz under my bed for exactly one week, Mr. Cone, and Ihave not called the maid's attention to it because I wished to see howlong it would remain there. I have no reason to believe that it will beremoved this summer. I am sure it is not necessary to tell you that suchfilth is unsanitary. I have decided that you can make out my bill atyour earliest convenience."
"But, Miss Gaskett----"
She ignored the protesting hand which Mr. Cone, panic-stricken,extended, and made way for a widow from Baltimore, who informed him thather faucet dripped and her rocking-chair squeaked, and since noattention had been paid to her complaints she was making otherarrangements.
It was useless for Mr. Cone to explain that with the plumbers strikingfor living wages and the furniture repairers behind with their work, ithad been impossible to attend immediately to these matters.
Ruin confronted Mr. Cone as he argued and begged them not to acthastily. But something of the mob spirit had taken possession of theguests in front of the desk who stood and glowered at him, and hisconciliatory attitude, his obsequiousness, only added to it.
If nothing else had happened to strain Mr. Cone's self-control further,he and his guests might have separated with at least a semblance of goodfeeling, but the fatal word which he had feared in his forebodings camefrom Mrs. J. Harry Stott, who majestically descended the broad staircasecarrying before her a small reddish-brown insect impaled on adarning-needle. She walked to the desk and presented it for Mr. Cone'sconsideration. It was a most indelicate action, but the knowledge thatit was such did not lessen the horror with which the guests regarded it.
Aghast, speechless, Mr. Cone, one of whose proudest boasts had been ofthe hotel's cleanliness, could not have been more shocked if he hadlearned that he was a leper.
There were shudders, ejaculations, and a general determination to leaveeven sooner than anticipated.
"Where did you find it?" Mr. Cone finally managed to ask hoarsely.
"Walking on my pillow!" replied Mrs. Stott, dramatically. "_And I thinkthere are others!_ If you will see that my trunks get off on the 4:17 Ishall be obliged to you."
Mr. Cone knew it was coming. He felt the symptoms which warned him thathe was going to "fly off the handle." He leaned over the counter. Mrs.Stott's eyes were so close together that, like Cyclops, she seemed tohave but one, and they had the appearance of growing even closer as Mr.Cone looked into them.
"Do not give yourself any concern on that score, madam. Your trunks willbe at the station as soon as they are ready and it will please me if youwill follow them.
"For twelve years I have been p
retending not to know that you used thehotel soap to do your washing in the bath-tub, and it is a relief tomention it to you.
"And, Miss Gaskett," the deadly coldness of his voice made her shiver,"I doubt if the fuzz under your bed has troubled you as much as the factthat for three summers your cat has had kittens in the linen closet hasannoyed me."
The Baltimore widow had his attention:
"It is possible that the drip from your faucet and the squeak in yourrocking-chair gets on your nerves, my dear lady, but not more than yourdaily caterwauling on the hotel piano gets on mine.
"I shall miss your check, certainly, Mr. Appel, but not nearly so muchas I shall enjoy the relief from listening to the story of the way yougot your start as a 'breaker-boy' in the coal region."
He bowed with the irony of Mephistopheles to Mrs. Budlong:
"Instead of discharging the man with the vacuum cleaner, I shall givehim for his large family the cake and fruit you would have carried awayfrom the table in your capacious pocket if you had been here."
His eyes swept them all.
He would have given Mr. Budlong his attention, but that person'svanishing back was all he could see of him, so he turned to the othersand shouted:
"Go! The sooner the better. Get out of my sight--the lot of you! I'MGOING TO A REST CURE!"
His hand travelled toward the potato he used as a pen-wiper and therewas something so significant in the action when taken in connection withhis menacing expression that, without a word, they obeyed him.