Each gets off
and goes his several way. The land agent, who has sat in high-bred
silence all the way, pays his fare and goes off on the car that awaits
him. The rest disperse. I pay my fare. The driver asks to be remembered.
I mentally wonder what for. I paid a porter to place my bag on the car.
I got up as I could, I scramble down as I may. I will pay another porter
to take me to a hotel. The driver's whip takes as much notice of me as
he does. Why in the world should I remember him? It is part of a system
of imposition and it would be rank communism to find fault, so I
remember him; he thanks me, and this little game of give and take ends.
Installed in the Imperial Hotel I send off my one letter of
introduction, which remains. Discover the post office, find no letters,
return and sit down to write across the water. The lady proprietor of
the Imperial Hotel has been across the Atlantic and has a warm feeling
toward the inhabitants of the great republic; she shares the benefit of
this feeling with the wandering Canadian and takes us out to see Sligo.
Gladly do we lay down the pen to look Sligo straight in the face.
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