Free Brief Tales From The Bench by Henry Cecil

third.’
    ‘Perhaps I can go up, and the luggage can follow.’
    ‘The staircase is over there.’
    ‘What about a lift?’
    ‘The lift’s out of order.’
    ‘How long will it be out of order?’
    ‘How can I say? I’m not an engineer.’
    ‘Well,’ said Blandish, ‘can someone come and take my luggage out of the car?’
    ‘Perhaps you’d like me to do it,’ said the girl.
    ‘No, it’s too heavy for a girl.’
    ‘Well, that’s the answer to that, then.’
    ‘Can I see the manager, please?’
    ‘I told you, he’s over there.’
    The plaintiff went on to explain that, after he had said ‘Excuse me’ twice, in a slightly louder tone on the second occasion, the manager came to life and said: ‘Attend to this gentleman, Judy.’
    ‘He’s not satisfied,’ said the girl.
    ‘Not satisfied with what?’ said the manager.
    ‘I simply want my luggage brought in,’ said Blandish.
    ‘Can’t you manage it?’
    ‘You wrote to me,’ said Mr Blandish, ‘that this was a hotel de luxe, and your charges certainly justify that expression. I should have thought that someone could have taken in my luggage.’
    ‘If you wait a moment,’ said the manager, ‘I’ll give you a hand.’
    ‘I’m afraid I don’t want a hand,’ said Blandish. ‘I want someone to take in my luggage.’
    ‘Well,’ said the manager, ‘you must wait for the porter. He’s down the garden. You heard the young lady say so.’
    ‘Well, my car’s outside in the street,’ said Blandish. ‘Can I leave it there?’
    ‘Of course you can,’ said the manager, ‘if you want to be summoned for obstruction. It’s a very narrow street, anyone can see that.’
    ‘Well, why can’t you come and help take the luggage out now?’
    ‘I’ve said I would come in a moment,’ said the manager, ‘if the porter doesn’t arrive.’
    ‘Why can’t you do it at once?’
    ‘Because I’m busy.’
    ‘Was it you who wrote to me that the hotel was equivalent to an AA five star hotel in service, comfort and food?’
    ‘If I signed it, I wrote it,’ said the manager. ‘Ah, there’s the porter. Ernie, give the gentleman a hand with his luggage, please.’
    ‘I can’t,’ said the porter, ‘I’m busy.’
    ‘When will you be free?’ said the manager.
    ‘In half an hour,’ said the porter. ‘I go off then.’
    Mr Blandish explained to me that at that moment a policeman came in and requested him to move his car, and he had to do so. As a result he had to carry his own suitcases several hundred yards back to the hotel.
    Eventually he went to his room, which was about twelve feet by ten. It had originally been a little larger, but carved out of it was just enough space for a bath and a lavatory. Eventually he walked downstairs and went into the bar for a drink before dinner. The same young lady who had been in the reception desk was behind the bar, still painting her fingernails and smoking a cigarette.
    ‘Could I have a dry Martini, please?’ said Blandish.
    ‘Large or small?’
    ‘Small please. What time is dinner?’
    ‘It’s on now,’ said the girl. ‘If you don’t look sharp, you won’t get any.’
    ‘But it’s only just after half past seven,’ said Blandish.
    ‘That’s right,’ said the girl. ‘If you look up there, you’ll see dinner is at half past seven.’
    The plaintiff said that he then noticed that the girl had poured him out a glass of Italian dry vermouth.
    ‘But I asked for a dry Martini,’ he said.
    ‘Can you read?’ said the girl, and pointed to the bottle on which were the words ‘Martini Dry.’
    The plaintiff said that he then tried to explain to the girl the consistency of a dry Martini. To which she replied: ‘If you wanted a gin and French, you should have said so. We’ve no ice anyway.’
    ‘Well, I’ll skip the drink,’ said Mr Blandish, ‘and go into dinner.’
    ‘Wait a moment,’ said the girl, ‘that will be eight shillings, please.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ said Mr Blandish, ‘I’m