American fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, American
She opened the door, and we went into the passage; it was entirely dark,
but the man led us across to our room, showed us the position of our
beds by sense of feeling, and left us without a word. After he had gone,
we struck matches, one by one, and, with the aid of their uncertain
light, managed to get into our respective mounds in safety; they were
shake-downs on the floor, made of fragrant hay instead of straw, covered
with beautifully clean white sheets and patchwork coverlids, and
provided with large, luxurious pillows. O pillow! Has any one sung thy
praises? When tired or sick, when discouraged or sad, what gives so much
comfort as a pillow? Not your curled hair brickbats; not your stiff,
fluted, rasping covers, or limp cotton cases; but a good, generous, soft
pillow, deftly cased in smooth, cool, untrimmed linen! There's a friend
for you, a friend who changes not, a friend who soothes all your
troubles with a soft caress, a mesmeric touch of balmy forgetfulness.
I slept a dreamless sleep. Then I heard a voice borne toward me as if
coming from far over a sea, the waves bringing it nearer and nearer.
'Awake!' it cried; 'awake! The night is far spent; the day is at hand.
Awake!'
I wondered vaguely over this voice as to what manner of voice it might
be, but it came again, and again, and finally I awoke to find it at my
side. The gray light of dawn came through the open windows, and Raymond
was already up, engaged with a tub of water and crash towels. Again the
chant sounded in my ears.
'Very well, very well,' I said, testily. 'But if you sing before
breakfast you'll cry before night, Waiting Samuel.'
Our host had disappeared, however, without hearing my flippant speech,
and slowly I rose from my fragrant couch; the room was empty save for
our two mounds, two tubs of water, and a number of towels hanging on
nails. 'Not overcrowded with furniture,' I remarked.
'From Maine to Florida, from Massachusetts to Missouri, have I
travelled, and never before found water enough,' said Raymond. 'If
waiting for the judgment day raises such liberal ideas of tubs and
towels, I would that all the hotel-keepers in the land could be convened
here to take a lesson.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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