A Book of Burlesques Part 13

THE SECOND MAN

Certainly it seems simple enough. I never knew there was any such system.

THE FIRST MAN

I guess you didn't. Very few do. But it's just because Americans don't know it that these foreign blackmailers shake 'em down. Once you let the port_eer_ see that you know the ropes, he'll pa.s.s the word on to the others, and you'll be treated like a native.

THE SECOND MAN

I see. But how about the elevator boy? I gave the elevator boy in Dresden two marks and he almost fell on my neck, so I figured that I played the sucker.

THE FIRST MAN

So you did. The rule for elevator boys is still somewhat in the air, because so few of these b.u.m hotels over here have elevators, but you can sort of reason the thing out if you put your mind on it. When you get on a street car in Germany, what tip do you give the conductor?

THE SECOND MAN

Five pfennigs.

THE FIRST MAN.

Naturally. That's the tip fixed by custom. You may almost say it's the unwritten law. If you gave the conductor more, he would hand you change.

Well, how I reason it out is this way: If five pfennigs is enough for a car conductor, who may carry you three miles, why shouldn't it be enough for the elevator boy, who may carry you only three stories?

THE SECOND MAN

It seems fair, certainly.

THE FIRST MAN

And it _is_ fair. So all you have to do is to keep account of the number of times you go up and down in the elevator, and then give the elevator boy five pfennigs for each trip. Say you come down in the morning, go up in the evening, and average one other round trip a day. That makes twenty-eight trips a week. Five times twenty-eight is one mark forty--and there you are.

THE SECOND MAN

I see. By the way, what hotel are you stopping at?

THE FIRST MAN

The Goldene Esel.

THE SECOND MAN

How is it?

THE FIRST MAN

Oh, so-so. Ask for oatmeal at breakfast and they send to the livery stable for a peck of oats and ask you please to be so kind as to show them how to make it.

THE SECOND MAN

My hotel is even worse. Last night I got into such a sweat under the big German feather bed that I had to throw it off. But when I asked for a single blanket they didn't have any, so I had to wrap up in bath towels.

THE FIRST MAN

Yes, and you used up every one in town. This morning, when I took a bath, the only towel the chambermaid could find wasn't bigger than a wedding invitation. But while she was hunting around I dried off, so no harm was done.

THE SECOND MAN

Well, that's what a man gets for running around in such one-horse countries. In Leipzig they sat a n.i.g.g.e.r down beside me at the table. In Amsterdam they had cheese for breakfast. In Munich the head waiter had never heard of buckwheat cakes. In Mannheim they charged me ten pfennigs extra for a cake of soap.

THE FIRST MAN

What do you think of the railroad trains over here?

THE SECOND MAN

Rotten. That compartment system is all wrong. If n.o.body comes into your compartment it's lonesome, and if anybody _does_ come in it's too d.a.m.n sociable. And if you try to stretch out and get some sleep, some ruffian begins singing in the next compartment, or the conductor keeps b.u.t.ting in and jabbering at you.

THE FIRST MAN

But you can say _one_ thing for the German trains: they get in on time.

THE SECOND MAN

So they do, but no wonder! They run so slow they can't _help_ it. The way I figure it, a German engineer must have a devil of a time holding his engine in. The fact is, he usually can't, and so he has to wait outside every big town until the schedule catches up to him. They say they never have accidents, but is it any more than you expect? Did you ever hear of a mud turtle having an accident?

THE FIRST MAN

Scarcely. As you say, these countries are far behind the times. I saw a fire in Cologne; you would have laughed your head off! It was in a feed store near my hotel, and I got there before the firemen. When they came at last, in their tinpot hats, they got out half a dozen big squirts and rushed into the building with them. Then, when it was out, they put the squirts back into their little express wagon and drove off. Not a line of hose run out, not an engine puffing, not a gong heard, not a soul letting out a whoop! It was more like a Sunday-school picnic than a fire. I guess if these Dutch ever _did_ have a civilised blaze, it would scare them to death. But they never have any.