I abominate him. I am "one who has suffered." So here
goes!
"Imposing," best describes the Hotel porter; a very Grand Hotel has
at least two of these impositions--the House Porter and the Omnibus
Porter. The latter you only see twice in your Hotel existence, but he
is the most futile and the deadliest fraud of the two.
This Porter is part and parcel of that horrible deep-red-plush
nuisance, the Hotel-omnibus. He and it are inseparables, and make up
a sort of Centaur between them. Once outside the Railway-station, I
am besieged by a babel of these Porter-omnibuses--"Bear Hotel, Sor;"
"Grand Hotel, Sor!"--This, from a very dilapidated specimen, which,
on inspection, turns out to be "Grand Hotel Du Lac;" a pirate
porter-omnibus in fact; at last I find _The_ Grand Hotel vehicle, and
functionary. The latter is of gigantic stature; quite a "chucker-out;"
in a uniform between that of a German bandsman and a Salvation
Captain--"Certinly, Sar. Dis Grand Hotel; I see your Loggosh, Sar; gif
me se empfangschein." "Do you speak English?" I retort.--"Certinly;
spik Ingleese--empfangschein!"--"Empfangschein" baffles me, and I
am about to hand my keys to the monster, when a good-natured Courier
explains that it signifies the luggage-receipt.
Away ambles the Porter, leaving me with that orphaned sort of feeling
which a luggageless Englishman experiences; it is pouring cats and
dogs; I am dead beat; I creep into the dark omnibus.
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