“Ah—­where is Mr. Culhane?”

“I don’t know, sir,” I replied, being the only one present.  “He was here, but he’s gone.  I presume some one will show up presently.”

He walked up and down a little while, and then added:  “Um—­rather peculiar method of receiving one, isn’t it?  I wired him I’d be here.”  He walked restlessly and almost waspishly to and fro, looking out of the window at times, at others commenting on the rather casual character of it all.  I agreed.

Thus, some fifteen minutes having gone by without any one approaching us, and occasional servants or “guests” passing through the room or being seen in the offing without even so much as vouchsafing a word or appearing to be interested in us, the new arrival grew excited.

“This is very unusual,” he fumed, walking up and down.  “I wired him only three hours ago.  I’ve been here now fully three-quarters of an hour!  A most unheard-of method of doing business, I should say!”

Presently our stern, steely-eyed host returned.  He seemed to be going somewhere, to be nowise interested in us.  Yet into our presence, probably into the consciousness of this new “guest,” he carried that air of savage strength and indifference, eyeing the stranger quite sharply and making no effort to apologize for our long wait.

“You wish to see me?” he inquired brusquely once more.

Like a wasp, the stranger was vibrant with rage.  Plainly he felt himself insulted or terribly underrated.

“Are you Mr. Culhane?” he asked crisply.

“Yes.”

“I am Mr. Squiers,” he exclaimed.  “I wired you from Buffalo and ordered a room,” this last with an irritated wave of the hand.

“Oh, no, you didn’t order any room,” replied the host sourly and with an obvious desire to show his indifference and contempt even.  “You wired to know if you could engage a room.”

He paused.  The temperature seemed to drop perceptibly.  The prospective guest seemed to realize that he had made a mistake somewhere, had been misinformed as to conditions here.

“Oh!  Um—­ah!  Yes!  Well, have you a room?”

“I don’t know.  I doubt it.  We don’t take every one.”  His eyes seemed to bore into the interior of his would-be guest.

“Well, but I was told—­my friend, Mr. X——­,” the stranger began a rapid, semi-irritated, semi-apologetic explanation of how he came to be here.

“I don’t know anything about your friend or what he told you.  If he told you you could order a room by telegraph, he’s mistaken.  Anyhow, you’re not dealing with him, but with me.  Now that you’re here, though, if you want to sit down and rest yourself a little I’ll see what I can do for you.  I can’t decide now whether I can let you stay.  You’ll have to wait a while.”  He turned and walked off.

The other stared.  “Well,” he commented to me after a time, walking and twisting, “if a man wants to come here I suppose he has to put up with such things, but it’s certainly unusual, isn’t it?” He sat down, wilted, and waited.