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Another instance of the character of the service that the traveler had to be content with in the West in those days was our experience at Silveryville, California. In going from Suisun to Silveyville we lost our way, and after wandering around for two hours at length struck the Sacramento River, and at one-thirty reached the hotel, dusty and fatigued. Mr. Bleeker, our manager, sought the landlady and inquired whether we could have dinner.

"You should have come before," said she sharply, "it was ready at twelve o'clock."

"We lost the road," explained Mr. Bleeker, "and wandered ten miles out of our course."

"I can't help that," she replied. "Dinner was ready, and you'd oughter been here to eat it."

"I regret our delay," said Mr. Bleeker; "but may we have dinner?"

"I suppose so," she answered. "Sit down."

Mr. Bleeker called us, and we took seats at a table, which was swarming with flies.

"Well, speak up!" exclaimed the landlady. "Don't be afraid. What'll yer take?"

"I'll take that feather duster to brush away the flies," said the General.

"No, you won't!" she burst in, and then addressing a lad, "Bill, brush 'em out."

We all felt confused, and no one spoke.

"You've got tongues!" she snapped. "Why don't you use 'em?"

"Give your orders," said Mr. Bleeker to us.

"No orders here," she exclaimed. "Say what you want -- beef or mutton."

We all expressed our wishes, and she disappeared, soon returning with the plates, which she whirled across the table.

Mr. Bleeker looked at his and remarked, "Madam, I asked you for beef without gravy, and you give me mutton swimming in gravy."

"You're awful particular!" she snapped, snatching the plate from the table. In a few moments she brought back the correct order, and with the injunction, "Eat your dinner, now you've got it!" retired and left us to finish the meal in silence.

The servants in the hotels in Japan always reminded me of the extraordinary vigor of this landlady, on account of the difference between them. When we went in to inspect Minnie's room in the hotel at Nagasaki we discovered a huge centipede on the wall, and called in a servant to kill it. He came, calmly looked it over, and went out, presently returning with a second man. Both examined it critically, but made no motion to dispose of it. Our anxious demands, "Kill it, kill it!" evoked only a surprised stare, and the two retired, leaving us rather bewildered. Soon, however, they returned again with two more servants, carrying large square piece of cloth. Then all four with as much ceremony but without uttering a word grasped the corners of the cloth, and folding it up against the wall brushed the insect into it. Then they left the room as silently as they had entered it. What the reason for their queer actions was I'm sure I don't know, but I'm equally sure that had the landlady of Silveyville been there she would not have left me in doubt.