If you want to get along smoothly and comfortably while traveling, do not fail to make the clerks and proprietors of hotels believe you are something more than mortal: if you don’t, you will find rough sailing. A very good plan is to knock down a porter or waiter now and then, by way of preserving your dignity. You will find it profitable. Also, threaten to shoot the proprietor, occasionally, when you have a shadow of a pretext: that will never fail to establish your importance. Above all, I enjoin you to register yourself as a senator, governor or military officer. CHAPTER XXI. COURTESIES OF TRAVELERS. AFTER a ramble through the wild mountainous region of southwestern Pennsylvania, I returned to Philadelphia; and soon afterward started for Washington, to remain there a few weeks in the capacity of correspondent. When I travel in a railroad car, I always prefer that end of the seat next to the window. My reasons for this are various. For one thing a person can get a little fresh air, when he wants it—and too much when he don’t want it—he can get a far better view of the scenery without; and, besides, he can keep a look-out ahead for collisions, and jump out head foremost, if he sees another train coming from the opposite direction on the same track. Influenced by these considerations, I always manage to get to the depot a full half-hour before the starting-time of the train, and this course never fails to secure me my favorite end of the seat. On this occasion, I was at the depot at Broad and Prime streets, in good time, and had no difficulty in locating myself on the train to my perfect satisfaction. When the car was nearly full of passengers, and it was within two minutes of the time for starting, a lady and gentleman came in, and began to canvass the interior in search of a wholly vacant seat that they might both occupy; but their search proved futile. Quite a number of the seats were occupied by but one passenger, each, but there was not one entirely vacant. Failing to find an empty seat, the gentleman concluded he would make one empty, and he therefore came to me, and said: “Young man, won’t you take a seat with another gentleman and give us this seat?” “Very cheerfully,” I replied, “if the other gentleman will allow me to sit by the window.” He regarded this as equivalent to a refusal, and became vexed. “But,” he said, rather petulantly, “don’t you see I have my _lady_ with me?” Until he said this, I had supposed her to be his _wife_. “My friend,” I returned, “I came to the station early for the express purpose of obtaining a comfortable seat, and I do not think it right that I should keep it this long, and then give it up to another. I therefore respectfully decline to relinquish my seat.” “I hope,” said he, fairly grinding his teeth with anger and vexation, “that _you_ will some day be traveling with a lady, and——”