The Life and Adventures of Maj. Roger Sherman PotterAdams, F. Colburn (Francis Colburn)
General
The Life and Adventures of Maj. Roger Sherman Potter
Adams, F. Colburn (Francis Colburn)
Political fiction
The reception at the hotel, as it appeared on the following morning
in the newspapers, was something truly magnificent, proving
conclusively that the reporters had seen no less than one hundred
persons for every one present. My love for truth in all matters of
history constrains me to say, that these reporters made a great
mistake, since nothing could have been more simple, and yet in
keeping with true greatness, than the major's reception at the
hotel, and this for the very reason that he had outdistanced the
rabble. My declining years and gray hairs forbid me envying any man
his laurels, but I will not degrade a noble profession by making
myself the vassal of every great man who sets foot on these shores.
I say, then, that when the cattle and the major reached the door of
this spacious pile of white marble, wherein cheap luxury awaits the
million, it was near sundown, and the only persons standing at the
grand entrance, were those eight or ten bediamonded gentlemen who
carry on their occupation in suspicious places, and are commonly
called swell mobsmen, though judging from the air and circumstance
with which they occupy the great entrance to the great St. Nicholas,
it would seem as if the landlord had employed them for the double
purpose of ogling ladies as they passed and holding up his marble
columns. I should indeed be sorry to hear that this was true, for an
extremely respectable acquaintance tells me the landlord is a most
excellent gentleman, and looks well to the reputation of his house.
As the carriage stopped the major cast a glance upward, as if
viewing the curiously wrought lintels of the massive marble front,
and exclaimed: "Upon my soul, gentlemen, it is so grand I begin to
fear I shall not be comfortable in it." He had scarcely concluded
this sentence, when a distinguished politician, habited in soiled
drab trousers and a shabby brown dress coat, and a badly collapsed
hat, which he wore well down over his eyes, rushed eagerly out, and
was followed by a mellow faced policeman, with a green patch over
his left eye and a club in his right hand. Constituting in
themselves a committee of reception, the distinguished politician,
who was a delegate from the custom house, now made himself right
busy in getting the major and the high functionaries safely out of
the carriage. And this being done without delay, the policeman
ordered the swell mobsmen to stand back until the distinguished
politician had presented his congratulations, which he did, adding
that he had long been familiar with the potency of the major's
greatness, which the city, unlike other cities, was always ready to
honor.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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