Their Pilgrimage | Page 5

the name the traveler had
inscribed on the register--knew exactly what had happened, by some
mysterious power which women can exercise even in a hotel, when
they choose, he found himself in possession of a room, and was gayly
breakfasting with a merry party at a little round table in the dining-
room.
"He appears to know everybody," was Mrs. Benson's comment to Irene,
as she observed his greeting of one and another as the guests tardily
came down to breakfast. "Anyway, he's a genteel-looking party. I
wonder if he belongs to Sotor, King and Co., of New York?"
"Oh, mother," began Irene, with a quick glance at the people at the next
table; and then, "if he is a genteel party, very likely he's a drummer.
The drummers know everybody."
And Irene confined her attention strictly to her breakfast, and never
looked up, although Mrs. Benson kept prattling away about the young
man's appearance, wondering if his eyes were dark blue or only dark
gray, and why he didn't part his hair exactly in the middle and done
with it, and a full, close beard was becoming, and he had a good, frank
face anyway, and why didn't the Stimpsons come down; and, "Oh,
there's the Van Peagrims," and Mrs. Benson bowed sweetly and
repeatedly to somebody across the room.
To an angel, or even to that approach to an angel in this world, a person
who has satisfied his appetite, the spectacle of a crowd of people
feeding together in a large room must be a little humiliating. The fact is
that no animal appears at its best in this necessary occupation. But a
hotel breakfast-room is not without interest. The very way in which
people enter the room is a revelation of character. Mr. King, who was
put in good humor by falling on his feet, as it were, in such agreeable
company, amused himself by studying the guests as they entered. There
was the portly, florid man, who "swelled" in, patronizing the entire
room, followed by a meek little wife and three timid children. There
was the broad, dowager woman, preceded by a meek, shrinking little
man, whose whole appearance was an apology. There was a modest
young couple who looked exceedingly self-conscious and happy, and
another couple, not quite so young, who were not conscious of anybody,
the gentleman giving a curt order to the waiter, and falling at once to
reading a newspaper, while his wife took a listless attitude, which

seemed to have become second nature. There were two very tall, very
graceful, very high-bred girls in semi-mourning, accompanied by a nice
lad in tight clothes, a model of propriety and slender physical resources,
who perfectly reflected the gracious elevation of his sisters. There was
a preponderance of women, as is apt to be the case in such resorts. A
fact explicable not on the theory that women are more delicate than
men, but that American men are too busy to take this sort of relaxation,
and that the care of an establishment, with the demands of society and
the worry of servants, so draw upon the nervous energy of women that
they are glad to escape occasionally to the irresponsibility of hotel life.
Mr. King noticed that many of the women had the unmistakable air of
familiarity with this sort of life, both in the dining-room and at the
office, and were not nearly so timid as some of the men. And this was
very observable in the case of the girls, who were chaperoning their
mothers-- shrinking women who seemed a little confused by the bustle,
and a little awed by the machinery of the great caravansary.
At length Mr. King's eye fell upon the Benson group. Usually it is
unfortunate that a young lady should be observed for the first time at
table. The act of eating is apt to be disenchanting. It needs considerable
infatuation and perhaps true love on the part of a young man to make
him see anything agreeable in this performance. However attractive a
girl may be, the man may be sure that he is not in love if his admiration
cannot stand this test. It is saying a great deal for Irene that she did
stand this test even under the observation of a stranger, and that she
handled her fork, not to put too fine a point upon it, in a manner to
make the fastidious Mr. King desirous to see more of her. I am aware
that this is a very unromantic view to take of one of the sweetest
subjects in life, and I am free to confess that I should prefer that Mr.
King should first have seen Irene leaning on the balustrade of the
gallery, with a rose in her