"Yes, I rather liked him," Father said. He always made a point of getting to meet the managers.
"Don't forget the business of them driving our car," I said. "That's really unforgivable."
"And the eggs were bad," said Robo; he was not yet 10 and his judgments were not considered seriously.
We became a far harsher team of evaluators when my grandfather died and we inherited Grandmother-- my mother's mother, who thereafter accompanied us on our travels. A regal dame, Johanna was accustomed to Class A travel, and my father's duties more frequently called for investigations of Class B and Class C lodgings. They were the places, the B and C hotels (and the pensions), that most interested the tourists. At restaurants we did a little better. People who couldn't afford the classy places to sleep were still interested in the best places to eat.
"I shall not have dubious food tested on me," Johanna told us. "This strange employment may give you all glee about having free vacations, but I can see there is a terrible price paid: the anxiety of not knowing what sort of quarters you'll have for the night. Americans may find it charming that we still have rooms without private baths and toilets, but I am an old woman and I'm not charmed by walking down a public corridor in search of cleanliness and my relievement. Anxiety is only half of it. Actual diseases are possible -- and not only from food. If the bed is questionable, I promise I shan't put my head down. And the children are young and impressionable; you should think of the clientele in some of these lodgings and seriously ask yourselves about the influences." My mother and father nodded; they said nothing. "Slow down!" Grandmother said sharply to me. "You're just a young boy who likes to show off." I slowed down. "Vienna," Grandmother sighed. "In Vienna I always stayed at the Ambassador."
"Johanna, the Ambassador is not under investigation," Father said.
"I should think not," Johanna said. "I suppose we're not even headed toward a Class A place?"
"Well, it's a B trip," my father admitted. "For the most part."
"I trust," Grandmother said, "that you mean there is one A place en route?"
"No," Father admitted. "There is one C place."
"It's okay," Robo said. "There are fights in Class C."
"I should imagine so," Johanna said.
"It's a Class C pension, very small," Father said, as if the size of the place forgave it.
"And they're applying for a B," said Mother.
"But there have been some complaints," I added.
"I'm sure there have," Johanna said.
"And animals," I added. My mother gave me a look.
"Animals?" said Johanna. "Animals," I admitted.
"A suspicion of animals," my mother corrected me.
"Yes, be fair," Father said.
"Oh, wonderful!" Grandmother said. "A suspicion of animals. Their hair on the rugs? Their terrible waste in the corners! Did you know that my asthma reacts, severely, to any room in which there has recently been a cat?"
"The complaint was not about cats," I said. My mother elbowed me sharply.
"Dogs?" Johanna said. "Rabid dogs! Biting you on the way to the bathroom."
"No," I said. "Not dogs."
"Bears!" Robo cried.
But my mother said, "We don't know for sure about the bear, Robo."
"This isn't serious," Johanna said.
"Of course it's not serious!" Father said. "How could there be bears in a pension?"
"There was a letter saying so," I said. "Of course, the Tourist Bureau assumed it was a crank complaint. But then there was another sighting -- and a second letter claiming there had been a bear."
My father used the rearview mirror to scowl at me, but I thought that if we were all supposed to be in on the investigation it would be wise to have Grandmother on her toes.