Cruel As The Grave Part 22

And all was in readiness at the village hotel at Blackville, where gentlemen, coming from a distance to attend the ball, had engaged rooms in advance.

Nevertheless the landlord of the hotel was in a "stew," for there were more people already arrived, on horseback and in carriages of every description, from the heavy family coach crammed with young ladies and gentlemen, to the one-horse gig with a pair of college chums. And the distracted landlord had neither beds for the human beings nor stalls for the horses. But he sent out among his neighbors, and tried to get "accommodations for man and beast" in private houses and stables.

"And the coach be come in, sir, and what be we to do with the pa.s.sengers?" inquired the head waiter.

"Blast the coach! I wish it had tumbled down the 'Devil's Descent' into the bottomless pit!" exclaimed the frantic host, seizing his gray locks with both hands, and running away from before the face of his tormentor--and jumping from the frying-pan into the fire, when he came full upon his daughter Bessie, who stopped him with:

"Pop, you must come right into the parlor. There's a gentleman there as come by the coach, and says he _must_ have a bed here to-night, no matter how full you may be, or how much it may cost."

"Impossible, Bessie! Clean impossible! Don't drive me stark mad!" cried the landlord, jerking at his gray hair.

"Well, but, Pop, you must come and tell the gentleman so, or he'll sit there all night," remonstrated the girl.

"Blow the fellow to blazes! Where is he?"

"In the parlor, Pop."

The landlord trotted into the parlor and gave a little start, for, at first sight, he thought the gentleman's head was on fire! But a second glance showed him that the gentleman only had the reddest hair he had ever seen in his life, and that the level rays of the setting sun, shining through the western window, and falling fall upon this head, set this red hair in a harmless blaze of light.

Recovering from his little shock, he advanced to the gentleman, bowed, and said:

"Well, sir, I am the landlord, and I understand you wish to see me."

"Yes; I wish to engage a room here to-night."

"Very sorry, sir; but it is out of the question. Every room in the house is engaged; even my room and my daughter's room, and the servants'

rooms. And not only that, sir, but every sofa is engaged, and every rug; so you see it is clean impossible."

"Impossible is it?" inquired the stranger.

"Clean impossible, sir! utterly impossible!" returned the host.

"All right; then it shall be done."

"Sir!"

"I say, because it is impossible, it shall be done."

"Eh!"

"Here is a hundred dollars," said the stranger, laying down two bank-notes of fifty dollars each. "I will give you this money if you can induce any of your guests to give up a room for me to-night."

"Why, really, sir, I should be delighted to accommodate such a very liberal gentleman, but--"

"You must decide at once. Now, or never," said the stranger, firmly, for he saw the game was now in his own hands.

"Well, yes, sir; I will find you a room. The two young college gents who took a room between them may be induced to give it up."

"_Must_ give it up, you mean," amended the stranger.

"Well, yes, sir; just as you say, sir."

"And I must have it in fifteen minutes."

"Yes, sir."

"And supper served there in half an hour."

"Yes, sir."

"And your company at supper, as I want to have a little talk with you."

"All right, sir."

"And now, you can go and see about the room."

"Just so, sir," said the landlord, gathering up the two fifty-dollar bills that had bought him, body and soul, and then bowing himself out of the room.

"'Money makes the mare go,' and the horse too. I wonder what he'll think when he finds out his bank bills are not worth the paper they are printed on," mused the stranger, as he paced thoughtfully up and down the room.

Fortunately for the landlord's speculation, bad as it ultimately proved, the two collegians who had engaged his best front bedroom had not yet arrived to take possession of it. Therefore the business of turning it over to a more profitable party was the more immediately practicable.

All the landlord had to do was to see that a fire was kindled in the fireplace, and the table was set for supper.

Then he returned to the parlor, to conduct, in person, such a wealthy and munificent patron to his apartment.

"Ah! this is cosy!" said the stranger, sinking into an arm-chair, and spreading his hands over the blazing fire, whose beams were caught and reflected by his red hair, until it shone like a rival conflagration.

"Glad you like your quarters, sir," said the landlord, putting his hand upon the pocket that contained the purse with the two fifty-dollar bills to see that they were safe.

"Ah! here comes the supper. Now, landlord, I want you to join me, that we may have that little chat I spoke of," said the stranger, wheeling his arm-chair around to the table, while the waiter arranged the dishes, and stared at the flaming red head of the guest.

"What name might I have the honor of entering on my books, sir, if you please?" inquired the host, as he obligingly took his seat opposite his guest.

"What name might you have the honor of entering on your books?" repeated the stranger, helping himself to a huge slice of ham. "Well, you _might_ have the honor of entering quite a variety of names on your books, as I dare say you do; but for the sake of brevity, which is the soul of wit, you may put down Smith--John Smith of New York city. Common name, eh, landlord, and from a big city? Can't help that--fault of my forefathers and G.o.dfathers. Whenever I have to sign a check the bankers make me write myself down as 'John Smith of John.' Can't do any better than that if it were to avert a financial crisis. All my ancestors have been John Smiths, from the days of William Rufus, when his chief armorer John, surnamed the 'Smiter,' for his l.u.s.ty blows, founded the family. So you may set me down as 'John Smith of John, New York city.' And now send the waiter away, and fall to and tell me some of your neighborhood news."

Nothing but the consciousness of the possession of those two big bills would have given the landlord courage to have left his business below stairs to take care of itself even for the half hour to which he mentally resolved to limit his interview with the stranger. However, he dismissed the waiter with some extra charges, and then placed himself at the service of his guest, and even took the initiative of the _tete-a-tete_ by asking:

"You are quite a stranger in this neighborhood, sir?"

"Quite."

"Travelling on business, or for pleasure?"

"Pleasure."

"A delightful season this, to travel in, sir; neither too warm, nor too cold. And the country never looks so rich and beautiful as in its autumn foliage."

"True," answered the stranger, briefly, and then he added, "I didn't ask you to come here to catechize me, my good friend; but to submit to be catechized yourself, and to amuse me with the gossip of the neighborhood."