The Poinciana station’s a couple hundred yards from one end o’ the hotel, and that means it’s close to five miles from the clerk’s desk. By the time we’d registered and been gave our key and marathoned another five miles or so to where our room was located at, I was about ready for the inquest. But the Missus was full o’ pep and wild to get down to breakfast and look over our stable mates. She says we would eat without changin’ our clo’es; people’d forgive us for not dressin’ up on account o’ just gettin’ there. W’ile she was lookin’ out the window at the royal palms and buzzards, I moseyed round the room inspectin’ where the different doors led to. Pretty near the first one I opened went into a private bath.
“Here,” I says; “they’ve give us the wrong room.”
Then my wife seen it and begin to squeal.
“Goody!” she says. “We’ve got a bath! We’ve got a bath!”
“But,” says I, “they promised we wouldn’t have none. It must be a mistake.”
“Never you mind about a mistake,” she says. “This is our room and they can’t chase us out of it.”
“We’ll chase ourself out,” says I. “Rooms with a bath is fifteen and sixteen dollars and up. Rooms without no bath is bad enough.”
“We’ll keep this room or I won’t stay here,” she says.
“All right, you win,” I says; but I didn’t mean it.
I made her set in the lobby downstairs w’ile I went to the clerk pretendin’ that I had to see about our trunk.