While he's burnin' a couple of black perfectos out on the smoke reservation, I roams around the Restorium. It's furnished neat and simple, with lots of varnished woodwork and a few framed railroad photos on the walls. In the parlor was four or five groups of women in rockin' chairs, talkin' low and doin' fancy-work. Most of the men were tiptoein' up and down the veranda. They was a stoop shouldered, dyspeptic lookin' lot. Down in the basement in a place labeled "Recreation Room," a couple of checker games was in progress, and four gents was shovin' weights up and down the shuffleboard. Yes, it was a perfectly good place to be quiet in. I could guess why Hickory Ellins had begun to show signs of bein' restless. By eight o'clock he comes marchin' in and up to the office desk. "Where's the billiard room?" says he. "There is no billiard room, brother," says the Doc, steppin' to the front. "Here we have eliminated all of those things that might disturb our beautiful peace and quiet." "Have, eh?" grunts Hickory. "Then where can I find three others to make up a bridge game?" "Card playing," says the Doc, putting his thumb and forefingers together, "is not allowed in the Restorium." "Sorrowing sisters by the sea!" remarks Mr. Ellins. "No billiards! No cards! Say, what the merry Mithridates do you think I'm going to do with myself from now until twelve o'clock, eh?" "By referring to the rules of this establishment, Mr. Ellins," says the Doc, speakin' cold and reprovin', "you will see that the general retiring hour is fixed at nine-thirty. At nine-forty-five the gas is all turned off." "What!" roars Hickory. "Think you're going to put me to bed at nine-thirty?" "You are at liberty to sit up in the dark, if you choose," the Doc comes back at him. "Any guest who is dissatisfied with the manner in which the Restorium is conducted has the option of leaving." "Well, say!" says Mr. Ellins, thumpin' the desk earnest, "I am dissatisfied! Buttermilk and vesper services! Huh! Do you suppose I've paid two weeks in advance for such a dose? Where's your 'phone?" With that he calls up New York, gets his chauffeur on the wire, and orders him to have the car here first thing in the morning, even if he has to start before light. "And what is more," says Mr. Ellins, walkin' back to the Doc, "I propose to buy the rest of this hill and open a real live hotel as close to your place as I can put it. There'll be something going on in it all the time, if I have to make everything free, and you can bet your last dollar the wine list will have something besides buttermilk on it! There'll be billiard tables, bowling alleys, a dance hall, and a brass band playing all night. I'll fix your beautiful peace and quiet for you!" The Doc, he smiles a kind of sanctified smile and points to the clock. "In just forty-five minutes," says he, "the lights go out."