“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.
“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.
“I am glad we have met. I stay at the St. Charles to-night. I hope you are not engaged.”
“Then you must take supper with me. Come up a moment; then we will take a walk.”
I re-entered the hotel, accompanied by Miller, and opening the register again with the air of the owner, I wrote immediately under my name:
“Major Miller,” said I, addressing the clerk, “will take supper with me.”
“All right, Colonels,” was the obsequious reply; “any times you blease.”
Miller and I walked out for a stroll, and I explained to him, somewhat to his amusement, my reason for adopting those high-sounding military titles. We then stopped at the first respectable saloon, and took a hearty lemonade, with a powerful “stick” in it—dispensing with the lemons, water and sugar.