“Well, if you’re not the craziest dub, Tommy!” laughed Nelson.
“Roberts handed me out a nice little plum-colored uniform; long trousers, a monkey jacket with four thousand little round brass buttons down the front and a funny little round cap with a line of gilt braid chasing over the top of it. And a fellow named McCarthy lent me a pair of shoes, because mine weren’t fit to be seen. So I was fixed. But the sad part of it was that as soon as I got to be a bell boy I didn’t eat in the ordinary. And we didn’t get any of the frills. But there was enough of it; you could have all you wanted, you know. I went on duty at six o’clock. There were seven of us and I tell you we were busy! Along about nine o’clock everything began to happen at once; ice water, find the chambermaid, bring sea water in a bucket, find out why the electric light didn’t work, get a plate of oatmeal crackers, find lost kids and—oh, everything! And the bell in the office was thumping holes in itself. But it was pretty good fun. And when you got to the fourth floor you could slide nearly three flights on the banister rail—if no one saw you. But along about twelve or half-past I thought my legs were coming off. They wouldn’t let us ride on the elevator unless we were showing some one to his room and the stairs were fierce. They let me off at one o’clock and I couldn’t wait to get my clothes off. I guess I’ve lost ten pounds.”
“In the Servants’ Hall, as they called it; a building back of the hotel with a lot of little rooms with iron beds in them. I could have slept on the office floor or on top of the elevator cage that night! To-day I didn’t have to go to work until twelve o’clock, and I was glad of it, I tell you, for my legs were stiff as anything! They’re stiff yet,” added Tom, stretching them carefully as though he was afraid they might break off, “but not so bad; they’ve got limbered up now.”
“Did they let you off early?” asked Nelson.
“No,” he answered. “I severed my connection with the Seamont Inn at exactly half-past eight. It was this way. I got a call to Room 86. When I went up there an old codger with a white mustache and a red face lighted into me for not coming sooner; said he’d been ringing for ten minutes and I was the slowest boy he’d ever seen and needed to have some of the fat worked off me. I said I’d bet I could beat him to the end of the hall and back and he got waxy about it; said he was going to send for the manager and have me discharged. I told him to go ahead. So I went downstairs and resigned before the old codger could report me. The manager chap said he guessed I wasn’t cut out for a bell boy. I asked him if I owed him anything and he said No, I’d worked it off. He was very decent about it. I told him I’d be glad to pay him, though, if he thought I owed him anything and he wanted to know how. ‘Thought you said you didn’t have any money?’ said he. I told him I didn’t have any when I got there, but that I’d made four dollars and seventy-five cents in tips. He thought that was funny, too; he had a keen sense of humor for a hotel man. But he said we were square, and so I thanked him and shook hands with him and changed my clothes. Roberts was sorry I was going; said they all had trouble with the red-faced old idiot.”