Morris as a “staller” was certainly a daisy. By a “stall” he referred to a knack he had of creating an impression within an hour that we were entitled to everything within reach the moment we landed. He was never ostentatious, usually truthful. If we entered a train where there were no places left, Morris would be off to see the station master, conductor, anyone, in fact, who was handy. In a moment he would have the station aroused and come back with half a dozen officers at his heels, saluting and bowing, and in a few minutes some unfortunate would be turned out, and I would have the best place on the train. If we boarded a steamer, Morris would be busy for an hour and everything on the boat was at my disposal, while even the Captain would stop and inquire, with the utmost solicitude, as to the state of my health. I first observed this interesting course of procedure applied on the P. & O. _Egypt_ on the way from Bombay to the Suez Canal. The rates from India to the Canal are something exorbitant. I found that to take Morris second cabin would cost me the equivalent of a first cabin trip on an Atlantic greyhound. The only accommodations below the second were called “native passage” and was intended for East Indians, who are quite contented to sleep on the deck and eat slops and rice. I regretted the extortionate sum demanded for the second cabin, but did not want to see my chief of staff in such a wretched plight, so told him I would stand for the second cabin ticket. He had heard my negotiations with the agent, and insisted on the deck passage. “Just you watch me, sir,” he confided, when I closed the deal. “Give me a few pounds and watch Monroe D. Morris make a great ‘stall.’” So I gave him two pounds and I went aboard. He objected a little at being fumigated by the health authorities, but it lasted only a few minutes, and he swallowed his pride. No sooner were we under way than he directed his attention to the second steward, who had charge of the second class passengers. In great confidence he unfolded to this haughty dignitary, from whom I had been unable to get a pleasant look, that he, Morris, wasn’t really a valet or servant at all, but my private secretary. That he was making a secret and most exhaustive study of the native races of the east, and that he, Morris, had taken a third class ticket that he might mingle with the lowly steerage, gain their confidence and draw them out on the ideas current in the lower walks of Indian life. Yes, he had done this all over the world, and had had great success in passing himself off as a lowly fellow. The first steward might not believe it, but it was true. Of course, if he had a second cabin passage, his fellow deck passengers would view him as an intruder.