Sinclair Lewis

“ It was her father who took the lead as they rambled to the one tolerable hotel in the town.
⁠In the hotel Claire was conscious of the ugliness of the poison-green walls and brass cuspidors and insurance calendars and bare floor of the office; conscious of the interesting scientific fact that all air had been replaced by the essence of cigar smoke and cooking cabbage; of the stares of the traveling men lounging in bored lines; and of the lack of welcome on the part of the night clerk, an oldish, bleached man with whiskers instead of a collar. ”

“ Claire found herself dimpling at him.
⁠In the dining-room their inquisitional acquaintance, the waitress, fairly ran to them. "Sit down, folks. Waffles this morning. You want to stock up for your drive. My, ain't it an elegant morning! I hope you have a swell drive today!"
⁠"Why!" Claire gasped, "why, they aren't rude. They care - about people they never saw before. That's why they ask questions! I never thought - I never thought! There's people in the world who want to know us without having looked us up in the Social Register! ”

“ Claire asked sharply.
⁠"Oh, stick it in that stall," grunted the man, and turned his back.
⁠Claire glowered at him. She thought of a good line about rudeness. But - oh, she was too tired to fuss. She tried to run the car into the empty stall, which was not a stall, but a space, like a missing tooth, between two cars, and so narrow that she was afraid of crumpling the lordly fenders of the Gomez. She ran down the floor, returned with a flourish, thought she was going to back straight into the stall - and found she wasn't. ”