themselves on that bathtowel, and there would still have been
enough dry territory left for some of the animals--not the large,
woolly animals like the Siberian yak, but the small, slick, porous
animals such as the armadillo and the Mexican hairless dog.

So I wedged myself into the tub and had a snug-fitting but most
luxurious bath; and when I got back to my room the maid had arrived
with the shaving water. There was a knock at the door, and when
I opened it there stood a maid with a lukewarm pint of water in a
long-waisted, thin-lipped pewter pitcher. There was plenty of hot
water to be had in the bathroom, with faucets and sinks all handy
and convenient, and a person might shave himself there in absolute
comfort; but long before the days of pipes and taps an Englishman
got his shaving water in a pewter ewer, and he still gets it so.
It is one of the things guaranteed him under Magna Charta and he
demands it as a right; but I, being but a benighted foreigner,
left mine in the pitcher, and that evening the maid checked me up.

"You didn't use the shaving water I brought you to-day, sir!" she
said. "It was still in the jug when I came in to tidy up, sir."

Her tone was grieved; so, after that, to spare her feelings, I
used to pour it down the sink. But if I were doing the trip over
again I would drink it for breakfast instead of the coffee the
waiter brought me--the shaving water being warmish and containing,
so far as I could tell, no deleterious substances. And if the
bathroom were occupied at the time I would shave myself with the
coffee. I judge it might work up into a thick and durable lather.
It is certainly not adapted for drinking purposes.