him. He flopped the hamper on the bed with a sigh of relief, took off
his hat, wiped his head with his handkerchief, and then turned to answer
me.

"Are you a married man?" says he.

It was an odd question to put to a waiter, but coming from a gent there
was nothing to be alarmed about.

"Well, not exactly," I says--I was only engaged at that time, and that
not to my wife, if you understand what I mean--"but I know a good deal
about it," I says, "and if it's a matter of advice--"

"It isn't that," he answers, interrupting me; "but I don't want you to
laugh at me. I thought if you were a married man you would be able to
understand the thing better. Have you got an intelligent woman in the
house?"

"We've got women," I says. "As to their intelligence, that's a matter of
opinion; they're the average sort of women. Shall I call the
chambermaid?"

"Ah, do," he says. "Wait a minute," he says; "we'll open it first."

He began to fumble with the cord, then he suddenly lets go and begins to
chuckle to himself.

"No," he says, "you open it. Open it carefully; it will surprise you."

I don't take much stock in surprises myself. My experience is that