"Then I think the Cosmopolis is a bally rotten hotel!"

Mr. Brewster's compact frame quivered. The unforgivable insult had
been offered. Question the legitimacy of Mr. Brewster's parentage,
knock Mr. Brewster down and walk on his face with spiked shoes, and
you did not irremediably close all avenues to a peaceful settlement.
But make a remark like that about his hotel, and war was definitely
declared.

"In that case," he said, stiffening, "I must ask you to give up your
room."

"I'm going to give it up! I wouldn't stay in the bally place another
minute."

Mr. Brewster walked away, and Archie charged round to the cashier's
desk to get his bill. It had been his intention in any case, though
for dramatic purposes he concealed it from his adversary, to leave
the hotel that morning. One of the letters of introduction which he
had brought over from England had resulted in an invitation from a
Mrs. van Tuyl to her house-party at Miami, and he had decided to go
there at once.

"Well," mused Archie, on his way to the station, "one thing's
certain. I'll never set foot in THAT bally place again!"

But nothing in this world is certain.