“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.
We soon returned, and, after supper at the hotel, walked out for another stroll about the city. At ten o’clock we parted, and I returned to the hotel, ready to retire.
“Colonels,” said the clerk, “you drunks comes. We puts him in ze rooms for you.”
“Very well; I will retire,” I said. “See that I am awakened in time for the seven-o’clock train for Uniontown.”
“Certainly, Colonels; we tends to dat. You vants to go to pet? I shows you de rooms.”
He went with me to a double-bedded room on the first floor, where I found my trunk, (with a fresh dent in it,) and lighting the gas for me, and leaving the key in the door, he bade me a humble good night, as, with a cringing bow, he retired from my military presence.
It was after one o’clock before the mosquitoes consented to my going asleep, and I had not been asleep long, when thump, thump, knock, knock, knock, went some one at my door, breaking upon my slumbers most unpleasantly. They wanted to put another man in my room, and, as I did not concur in the arrangement, I lay still and let them pound at the door till their knuckles were sore. At last I heard some one say:
“There’s no waking that fellow.”