I've learned this one large, immovable truth, and that is, that a
hotel clerk is a hotel clerk. It makes no difference whether he is
stuck back of a marble pillar and hidden by a gold vase full of
thirty-six-inch American Beauty roses at the Knickerbocker, or setting
the late fall fashions for men in Galesburg, Illinois."
By one small degree was the perfect poise of the peerless personage
behind the register jarred. But by only one. He was a hotel night
clerk.
"It won't do you any good to get sore, Mrs. McChesney," he began,
suavely. "Now a man would--"
"But I'm not a man," interrupted Emma McChesney. "I'm only doing a
man's work and earning a man's salary and demanding to be treated with
as much consideration as you'd show a man."
The personage busied himself mightily with a pen, and a blotter, and
sundry papers, as is the manner of personages when annoyed. "I'd like
to accommodate you; I'd like to do it."
"Cheer up," said Emma McChesney, "you're going to. I don't mind a
little discomfort.
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