"What?" said Oliver.
"I said 'What hotel?'" The policeman was beginning to be annoyed.
Oliver started to think of his hotel. It was imbecile not to remember the
name of your own hotel--even when your own particular material and
immaterial cosmos had been telescoped like a toy train in the last three
hours. The Rossiter was all that he could think of.
"The Rossiter," he said firmly.
"No hotel Rossiter in _this_ town." The policeman's nightstick was getting
more and more irritated. "Rossiter's a lotta flats. You live there?"
"No. I live in a hotel."
"Well, what hotel?"
"Oh, I tell you I don't remember," said Oliver vaguely. "A big one with a
lot of electric lights."
The policeman's face became suddenly very red.
"Well, you move on, buddy!" he said in a tone of hoarse displeasure. "You
move right on! You don't come around me with any of your funny cracks--I
know whatsa matter with you, all right, all right. I know whatsa matter
with you."
"So do I." Oliver was smiling a little now, the whole scene was so
arabesque. "I want to go to my hotel."
"You move on.
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