"What about them?" I demanded, furiously. "What's wrong with them? Is it the colour, or what?" As a matter of fact they looked rather neat--a sort of chocolate with blue stripes. In any case, I didn't want to be awakened in the middle of the night to have a boots tell me he didn't admire my pyjamas. They weren't meant to be admired; they were intended to be slept in. I wished he would realize that. "Perhaps you would rather I wore a night-shirt," I continued, as he remained speechless. "Well, I'm not going to. I'm an Englishman, Englander, Angol--do you understand?--and I'll wear what I like. Now I'm going to bed again. If I so much as hear you breathe near my door before nine o'clock I'll shoot you." With that I retired and slammed the door. I was half-way towards the bed when the door opened and boots inserted his head. Then a hand followed, and he scratched his head in a puzzled manner. Words, I felt, were wasted on him. In as dignified a manner as possible I climbed into bed and switched off the light hanging over it. Immediately boots turned on the light near the door. I sat up, indignant. "Look here," I said, "I've had enough of it." I raised a cautioning forefinger. "I will _not_ play games with you. Understand that, once for all. Go and wake somebody else up--somebody who knows these national customs of yours. I'm speaking seriously now. When I engaged this room I engaged it to sleep in. Sleep! Do you understand? It's an English custom. You're wasting your time trying to talk to me. I don't understand your language, and I'm not going to learn--not immediately, anyhow. Now, go! Go, you----!" As I rushed at him he turned and fled, and, locking the door, for the fifth time that night I got into bed. I was by this time in such a mood that I was awakened with a start at four o'clock by the sound of whispering outside my door. Without stopping to consider how I should dispose of the corpse of my intended victim, I again vacated my bed. This time boots was accompanied by another person, who turned out to be the manager. "I hev' come to apologize," he remarked, blandly. I struggled to regain my composure. "This is too good of you," I said, warmly. "Come in and take a seat." He misunderstood my sarcasm and promptly entered, accompanied by the boots. "Zere have been a leetle mistake," he continued, with an amused smile I made no effort to share. "It's more than kind of you," I said, gratefully, "to come and wake me up at four in the morning to explain it." He bowed modestly. Personal convenience, he assured me earnestly, was as nothing to an act of courtesy. Then he explained. It appeared that the previous occupier of my room had been a German, who had intended to take his departure at three o'clock that morning. At the last moment, however, he had changed his mind, and had left at 11 p.m. Unfortunately, the porter, whom he had desired to instruct the boots to awaken him, had forgotten to cancel the order.