After a smart
ride of an hour we stopped at the Fayhard Hotel, too early for these
slow Englishmen. After a decided rattling at a heavy dark oaken door
of an ancient-looking mansion, a dull, grim old Chinese made his
appearance, wondering who was disturbing his slumbers at such an early
hour. The landlord, a polite little Frenchman, greeted us with many
bows and much palaver and popped behind the bar, which motion was not
lost on the chilled travelers who called for their favorite and drank
with a satisfied smack. I felt like the dog who had gotten into bad
company, the saloon being the only room with a fire. After a half hour
of waiting we heard the welcome call for breakfast to which we needed
no second bidding. I am a victim of sea-sickness and had eaten
nothing during the entire voyage except a little gruel, and I leave
you to imagine what I did to the delicious breakfast placed before me,
served only as Frenchmen can serve. It consisted of fish, chops,
steak, rolls, coffee, potatoes and an omelette.
After breakfast I was shown to my room where I had a good view of the
town and I found we had been largely billed to appear on Thursday
night. We had a day of rest before our first performance. We moved in
the meantime to the Colonial Hotel or Driard House, and were shown to
a comfortable room with a fireplace, quaint and small, in which a
bright fire was burning. The room was cheerful and attractive with
many windows.
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