Democratic Sentinel, Volume 7, Number 34, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 September 1883 — Where He Had Us. [ARTICLE]

Where He Had Us.

There were seven or eight of us in the 1 smoking-car, and by-and-by the cdhversation turned upon hotels. Six of the crowd were going to stop off at the same village in Georgia, and one of them remarked: “Well, gentlemen, you can make up your minus to go -through purgatory to-night.” “Why?” “Well, there is only one hotel in the town, and that is run by the meanest man south of the Ohio river. ” “Do you know him ?” asked a chap who was suspected of being a light-ning-rod agent from Chicago. “I rather reckon.” “And what’s he mean about?” “Everything. He has bugs in his beds, uses beans in his coffee, his rooms are dirty, and he’s a robber in his charges.” “And there’s no other hotel?” “No. If there was he wouldn’t get custom enough to keep a cat alive. He’s the meanest man in the State of Georgia, and if I ever catch him outside of his town I’ll put a head on him.” “I move that we resist any swindle on his part,” said a drummer from ChiChicago. “If I find bugs I’ll fire the bed out of the window,” said a patent-churn man from Ohio. And thus it went on for half an hour, everybody anticipating and predicting, but the conversation finally closed by the originator remarking: “Well, we’ll have to put up with it I suppose, but you can make up your minds to see the meanest, low-down, hang-dog tavern-keeper in America. It was after dark when we reached the village, and, after delaying awhile with the baggage, five of us rode up together in the ’bus. The sixth man had disappeared, and we didn’t see him until we reached the hotel. Then he was discovered behind the desk, a pen over his ear, his coat off—in fact, he was the identical landlord himself! One after another walked up, took a look at him and fell back, and we had adjourned to the veranda and were talking of sleeping out on the grass that night when he came out and said: “Gentlemen, will you walk in and register ?” One followed the other, and though we all remained until the next evening, not a word was said nor a hint dropped about the conversation on the cars. It was only as the train was ready to go that he shook hands all around and kindly remarked: “The meanest, low-down, hang-dog tavern-keeper in America hopes to see one and all again. Have a cigar, gentlemen ?” We sent him a gallon of wine and a box of cigars from Augusta, but he was still our creditor.— Detroit Free Press.