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The Traveler’s Bane

From The Seattle Star, December 7, 1912. By Berton Braley.

 The old Inns were pleasant
     In decades gone by,
 But just at the present
     There’s none of them nigh.
 When travel was rougher
     These Inns served full well,
 But NOW we must suffer
     The Small Town Hotel!
 When, wayworn and dusty
     We land at the door,
 The rooms are all musty,
     There’s mould on the floor.
 Ah, pity the drummer
     Who must stay a spell
 Both winter and summer
     At this shine hotel!
 Its beds are all bumpy
     (Infrequently clean),
 Its oatmeal is lumpy,
     Its lights kerosene;
 Its “linen” is spattered,
     Its dining rooms smell,
 It’s blowsy and battered—
     The Small Town Hotel.
 Whatever you eat there
     Is sure to be fried;
 The landlord you meet there
     Is weazened and dried;
 There’s no one to hop at
     The ring of your bell;
 It’s awful to stop at
     The Small Town Hotel.

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