Presently our stern, steely-eyed host returned. He seemed to be going somewhere, to be nowise interested in us. Yet into our presence, probably into the consciousness of this new "guest," he carried that air of savage strength and indifference, eyeing the stranger quite sharply and making no effort to apologize for our long wait.
"You wish to see me?" he inquired brusquely once more.
Like a wasp, the stranger was vibrant with rage. Plainly he felt himself insulted or terribly underrated.
"Are you Mr. Culhane?" he asked crisply.
"Yes."
"I am Mr. Squiers," he exclaimed. "I wired you from Buffalo and ordered a room," this last with an irritated wave of the hand.
"Oh, no, you didn't order any room," replied the host sourly and with an obvious desire to show his indifference and contempt even. "You wired to know if you could engage a room."
He paused. The temperature seemed to drop perceptibly. The prospective guest seemed to realize that he had made a mistake somewhere, had been misinformed as to conditions here.
"Oh! Um—ah! Yes! Well, have you a room?"
"I don't know. I doubt it. We don't take every one." His eyes seemed to bore into the interior of his would-be guest.