At last the meal was over. The Thropps were groaning. They had not
quite absorbed the feast, but they had wrecked it utterly. Mr. Thropp
found only one omission in the perfect service. The toothpicks had to
be asked for. All three Thropps wanted them.
While Thropp was fishing in his pocket for a quarter, and finding
only half a dollar which he did not want to reveal, the waiter
placed before him a closely written manuscript, face down, with
a lead-pencil on top of it.
"What's this?" said Thropp.
"Will you please to sign your name and room number, sir?" the waiter
suggested.
"Oh, I see," said Thropp, and explained to his little flock. "You see,
they got to keep tabs on the regular boarders."
Then he turned the face of the bill to the light. His pencil could
hardly find a place to put his name in the long catalogue. He noted
a sum scrawled in red ink: "$11.75."
"Wha-what's this?" he said, faintly.
The surprised waiter explained with all suavity: "The price of
the breakfast. If it is not added correctlee--"
Thropp added it with accurate, but tremulous, pencil. The total
was correct, if the items were. He explained:
"But I'm a regular--er--roomer here. I pay by the week."
"Yes, sir--if you will sign, it will be all right."
"But that don't mean they're going to charge me for breakfast? 'Levum
dollars and seventy-five cents for--for breakfast?--for a small family
like mine is? Well, I'd like to see 'em! What do they think I am!"
The waiter maintained his courtesy, but Adna was infuriated.
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