To An Hotel Keeper

My dear Sir, -         Oft in the stilly night         My thoughts fly         In your direction,         For oft in the stilly night         It is my unfortunate habit         To have uncomfortable dreams,         And the worst of them         Runs to bankruptcy.         I have a horror of bankruptcy,         At any rate in my dreams.         I sometimes lie         Between the blankets         In a cold sweat         And for public examination as it were,         And the presiding genius of the court         Says to me, sepulchrally,         "To what do you attribute your financial rottenness?"         I fall into a colder sweat         And remark,         With a humility         Which becomes my unfortunate position,         "Sir, if you please,         I have been living at an hotel."         At this juncture of course         I come in for every sympathy:         The Court is with me,         The Court has been there itself;         There is not a dry eye about the place,         Every man present knows what I mean,         And his heart is touched accordingly.         Sir,         My dear Sir,         You also know what I mean;         In other words, you know         That I am the victim of a convention,         And that, when all is said that can be said,         You are the author of that convention.         As to the nature of that convention         We will put it this way:         One pound of steak         To the actual consumer         Should cost, say, 1s. 2d.         Trimmings         In the way of potatoes and peas might cost, say, 6d.,         Bread, 1d.,         Pepper, salt, and mustard, 1d.         (You will notice that I put a princely price on everything),         Total, 1s. 10d.         Fifty per cent. profit for you, let us say,         Would bring us up to 2s. 9d.         Really you ought to let one off for 2s. 9d.,         But what do you do?         Well,         So far as I can gather from your bills,         You lie awake at night         Debating with yourself         Whether you should charge one 3s. 6d. or 4s. 6d.         And you usually come to the conclusion         That it will be best         For all parties concerned         To charge one 5s.         If one expostulates,         You remark         With hauteur         That you thought you were dealing with a gentleman.         You are quite correct in this surmise.         But -         One pays,         And you pocket the difference.         Then, again, on one's bill         You put         Bed, 7s. 6d.         Which is cheap;         And I do not murmur;         But you also put         Attendance, 2s. 6d.;         Coffee in bedroom before rising, 1s.;         Bath, 1s. 6d.;         This is just 5s. too much,         Especially in view of the fact         That the attendance wears dirty shirts,         That the bath         Is lukewarm if you order it cold         And lukewarm if you order it hot;         And that the coffee before rising         Doesn't cost you a farthing.         I am aware, of course,         That all this is very mean         And low down         On my part,         But frankly         Your rapacity         Matters not so much to me         As to yourself.         People come once to your establishment,         They read your bill,         Pay your prices         And tip your dirty-shirted waiters,         And go away         And forget to come back.         Hence         You are bound to charge         The next man that comes along         As much extra as he will stand,         And by slow degrees         Your establishment         Is becoming         A by-word         And a warning.         My dear Sir,         Have a shilling bottle of wine         (For which you charge me 3s. 6d.)         At your own expense,         Consult with your wife,         And make up your mind         Never to charge         More than 2s.         For 9d. worth of goods.         Honesty is its own reward -         It is really.