No featherbedding, I was told, like our roads
unfortunately have.
We stepped off the train at Balboa and into a car chauffeured by
a cap with three letters on it; drove four or five blocks and
when we got out at the Hotel Tivoli we were in Ancon. And right
down there a block at the foot of the hill is Panama City--the
relatively new Panama.
Where oh where have our two-letter corporation guardians gone?
Those alleged evaders of the anti-trust laws, who have so
faithfully shepherded us these thousands of miles through the
mazes of Portuguese and Spanish gyrations and possible
malefactions?
We registered and A.M. asked for mail. There was none.
"Are you sure."
"Yes!"
"Haven't we had a reservation here for two months?"
"No."
"Sure?"
"Yes!"
Later I came down and went through the same procedure with
another man, with the same results. Not satisfied, I tackled
another clerk. He went through the books. Yes, we had had a
reservation, but hadn't shown up the proper day. "Any mail?" He
rummaged around and threw out a handful, all but one for A.M., .
. . also a card noting we had not arrived as per schedule and if
we should arrive later to call a certain number.
We did.
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