"I thought I would go into the baggage-room,
after we parted last night, to look for a piece of mine that had not been
taken to my room, and I found the porter there, with his wrist bound up.
He said he had strained it in handling a lady's Saratoga--he said a
Saratoga was a large trunk--and I begged him to let me relieve him at the
boots he was blacking. He refused at first, but I insisted upon trying my
hand at a pair, and then he let me go on with the men's boots; he said he
could varnish the ladies' without hurting his wrist. It needed less skill
than I supposed, and after I had done a few pairs he said I could black
boots as well as he."
"Did anybody see you?" I gasped, and I felt a cold perspiration break out
on me.
"No, we had the whole midnight hour to ourselves. The porter's work with
the baggage was all over, and there was nothing to interrupt the
delightful chat we fell into. He is a very intelligent man, and he told me
all about that custom of feeing which you deprecate. He says that the
servants hate it as much as the guests; they have to take the tips now
because the landlords figure on them in the wages, and they cannot live
without them.
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