Then, as though to forestall further
parley, he turned and spoke with gracious lightness to one of his own
rank and occupation who, at the request of my companion, was
ascertaining whether letters were awaiting us.
"But we telegraphed two days ago!" I protested desperately.
"Can't help it. Hardware Convention. Everything taken."
Over my shoulder I heard from my companion a sound, half sigh, half
groan, which echoed the cry of my own heart.
"I felt this coming!" he murmured. "Didn't you notice all these people
with ribbons on them? There's never any room in a hotel where
everybody's wearing ribbons. It's like a horse show. They get the
ribbons and we get the gate."
"Surely," I faltered, "you can let us have one small room?"
"Impossible," he answered brightly. "We've turned away dozens of people
this evening."
"Then," I said, abandoning hope, "perhaps you will suggest some other
hotel?"
I once heard a woman, the most perfect parvenu I ever met, speak of her
poor relations in a tone exactly similar to that in which the clerk now
spoke the names of two hotels. Having spoken, he turned and passed
behind the partition at one end of the marble counter.
My companion and I stood there for a moment looking despondently at each
other. Then, without a word, we retreated through that gorgeous lobby,
feeling like sad remnants of a defeated Yankee army.
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