"They came in with the plumbers, sir, at half-past eight. Old man
Schmick tried to keep them out, but they said they didn't understand
German and walked right by, leaving their donkeys in the roadway
outside."

"Couldn't Rudolph and Max stop them?" I cried, as my head emerged.

"They were still in bed, sir. I think they're at breakfast now."

"Good lord!" I groaned, looking at my watch. "Nine-thirty! What sort
of a rest cure am I conducting here?"

We hurried downstairs so fast that I lost one of my bedroom slippers.
It went clattering on ahead of us, making a shameful racket on the
bare stones, but Britton caught it up in time to save it from the
clutches of the curio-vandals. My workmen were lolling about the place,
smoking vile pipes and talking in guttural whispers. All operations
appeared to have ceased in my establishment at the command of the far
from idle rich. Two portly gentlemen in fedoras were standing in the
middle of the great hall, discussing the merits of a dingy old spinet
that had been carried out of the music room by two lusty porters from
the hotel. From somewhere in the direction of the room where the
porcelains and earthenware were stored came the shrill, excited voices
of women. The aged Schmicks were sitting side by side on a window
ledge, with the rigid reticence of wax figures.

As I came up, I heard one of the strangers say to the other:

"Well, if you don't want it, I'll take it. My wife says it can be made