We’d wired ahead for rooms at the Alcazar, and when we landed in St. Augustine they was a motorbus from the hotel to meet us at the station.
“Southern hospitality,” I says to the Wife, and we was both pleased till they relieved us o’ four bits apiece for the ride.
Well, they hadn’t neither one of us slept good the night before, w’ile we was joltin’ through Georgia; so when I suggested a nap they wasn’t no argument.
“But our clo’es ought to be pressed,” says the Missus. “Call up the valet and have it done w’ile we sleep.”
So I called up the valet, and sure enough, he come.
“Hello, George!” I says. “You see, we’re goin’ to lay down and take a nap, and we was wonderin’ if you could crease up these two suits and have ’em back here by the time we want ’em.”
“Certainly, sir,” says he.
“And how much will it cost?” I ast him.
“One dollar a suit,” he says.
“Are you on parole or haven’t you never been caught?” says I.
“Yes, sir,” he says, and smiled like it was a joke.
“Let’s talk business, George,” I says. “The tailor we go to on Sixty-third walks two blocks to get our clo’es, and two blocks to take ’em to his joint, and two blocks to bring ’em back, and he only soaks us thirty-five cents a suit.”