“I ton’t knows,” he said, in the odious dialect of a Teutonic Jacobite, “I sees apout it pretty soons direcklies leetle whiles;” and he kept on talking with some body about nothing. I stood by the counter for some minutes, entirely unnoticed by the contemptible fellow; and beginning to think that “pretty soons direcklies leetle whiles” had about expired, I said: “My friend, my trunk will be here presently, and I would like to know if you can accommodate me with a room.” “In vun meenutes,” he said. “We’s some fulls now, don’t knows.” Had I not already ordered my trunk to this hotel, I would not have trifled there many seconds, but would have gone at once to another house. Wondering why he seemed so inattentive to me, I glanced at my apparel and was thereby reminded that I was not well dressed. I seldom wear good clothes during a journey of several hundred miles in a railroad car, for the smoke and dust will ruin a good suit of clothes in half that distance. I had on, for one thing, a military coat which I had worn considerably, and it immediately suggested an idea to me. I opened the register, with a commanding and dignified air, put on expressly for the occasion, took up a pen, examined it, found it very good, but dashed it impatiently down, as though not quite good enough for me, then took up another, found it good enough, dipped it savagely into the ink, and wrote: “JOHN SMITH, COLONEL U. S. A., NEW YORK.” “There is my name,” said I, turning the book around, and pointing to what I had written. “Try to hunt up a single room for me, and put my trunk in it when it comes. My name is on it. There is my check for it. I am going out awhile.” And I gave him the check of the baggage-express agent. The disgusting groveler glanced at my name, and fairly jumped from the floor: he was all obsequiousness in a moment. “Certainly, Colonels,” he exclaimed, and I fancied he would have embraced me if the counter had not been between us, “I tends to it right aways.” And he immediately wrote the number of a room opposite my name. “Porters, see eef Colonels Schmidt’s drunks comes yet aready now. Ven it ish comes put it in Numbers Finf. We sees to it, Colonels. You says you goes out? Vell, you have suppers any times vat you vants it.” All eyes were turned on me. Those present must have thought me a rather young-looking colonel. I have no doubt that a great many went to the register and examined my signature, after my back was turned. They were no doubt proud of the honor, too. I walked out, and had just descended the steps of the hotel, when I ran against a young man who had a cane in his hand and walked a little lame. “Excuse me,” I said. “No harm done—” he began, then opened his eyes wide with surprise and interrupted himself with, “Why, John Smith! this you?” It was “Chris.” Miller, whom I had known at Haddington Hospital, and he was walking on his artificial leg. “Hollo! Miller, my boy! How do you do?” I exclaimed, as we shook hands.