"I would prefer to postpone the story of your life," he said coldly,
"and be informed what is your specific complaint against the Hotel
Cosmopolis."

"Of course, yes. The jolly old hotel. I'm coming to
that. Well, it was like this. A chappie on the boat told me that
this was the best place to stop at in New York--"

"He was quite right," said Mr. Brewster.

"Was he, by Jove! Well, all I can say, then, is that the other New
York hotels must be pretty mouldy, if this is the best of the lot! I
took a room here last night," said Archie quivering with self-pity,
"and there was a beastly tap outside somewhere which went drip-drip-
drip all night and kept me awake."

Mr. Brewster's annoyance deepened. He felt that a chink had been
found in his armour. Not even the most paternal hotel-proprietor can
keep an eye on every tap in his establishment.

"Drip-drip-drip!" repeated Archie firmly. "And I put my boots
outside the door when I went to bed, and this morning they hadn't
been touched. I give you my solemn word! Not touched."

"Naturally," said Mr. Brewster. "My employes are honest"

"But I wanted them cleaned, dash it!"

"There is a shoe-shining parlour in the basement. At the Cosmopolis
shoes left outside bedroom doors are not cleaned."