Arrived in his room Lord Berkeley made preparations for that first and last and all-the-time duty of the visiting Englishman--the jotting down in his diary of his "impressions" to date.His preparations consisted in ransacking his "box" for a pen.There was a plenty of steel pens on his table with the ink bottle, but he was English.The English people manufacture steel pens for nineteen-twentieths of the globe, but they never use any themselves.They use exclusively the pre-historic quill.
My lord not only found a quill pen, but the best one he had seen in several years--and after writing diligently for some time, closed with the following entry:
BUT IN ONE THING I HAVE MADE AN IMMENSE MISTAKE, I OUGHT TOHAVE SHUCKED MY TITLE AND CHANGED MY NAME BEFORE I STARTED.
He sat admiring that pen a while, and then went on:
"All attempts to mingle with the common people and became permanently one of them are going to fail, unless I can get rid of it, disappear from it, and re-appear with the solid protection of a new name.I am astonished and pained to see how eager the most of these Americans are to get acquainted with a lord, and how diligent they are in pushing attentions upon him.They lack English servility, it is true--but they could acquire it, with practice.My quality travels ahead of me in the most mysterious way.I write my family name without additions, on the register of this hotel, and imagine that I am going to pass for an obscure and unknown wanderer, but the clerk promptly calls out, 'Front!
show his lordship to four-eighty-two!' and before I can get to the lift there is a reporter trying to interview me as they call it.This sort of thing shall cease at once.I will hunt up the American Claimant the first thing in the morning, accomplish my mission, then change my lodging and vanish from scrutiny under a fictitious name."He left his diary on the table, where it would be handy in case any new "impressions" should wake him up in the night, then he went to bed and presently fell asleep.An hour or two passed, and then he came slowly to consciousness with a confusion of mysterious and augmenting sounds hammering at the gates of his brain for admission; the next moment he was sharply awake, and those sounds burst with the rush and roar and boom of an undammed freshet into his ears.Banging and slamming of shutters;smashing of windows and the ringing clash of falling glass; clatter of flying feet along the halls; shrieks, supplications, dumb moanings of despair, within, hoarse shouts of command outside; cracklings and mappings, and the windy roar of victorious flames!
Bang, bang, bang! on the door, and a cry:
"Turn out-the house is on fire!"
The cry passed on, and the banging.Lord Berkeley sprang out of bed and moved with all possible speed toward the clothes-press in the darkness and the gathering smoke, but fell over a chair and lost his bearings.
He groped desperately about on his hands, and presently struck his head against the table and was deeply grateful, for it gave him his bearings again, since it stood close by the door.He seized his most precious possession; his journaled Impressions of America, and darted from the room.
He ran down the deserted hall toward the red lamp which he knew indicated the place of a fire-escape.The door of the room beside it was open.