Of all the bores I ever met, this man was incomparably the greatest. If I ever visit McCulloch’s Leap again, I will remain at the summit, and not go near enough the verge for that dread man, who lives in the lone cottage far below, to catch a glimpse of me!
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Cincinnati.
IT was about the first of April, when the weather was delightful, and the nights were lighted by the full moon, that I left Wheeling for Cincinnati, on board the new little steamer “Como.” I had a pleasant voyage of two days and two nights, and might write a good many pages descriptive of it; but that’s old. Moreover, it is not John-Smithian.
As I wished to remain in Cincinnati for a month, I hired a lodging-room for that length of time, paying the money in advance, because it was not perfectly clear that I wasn’t a “deep-dyed villain.”
The landlady, for the sum of eighteen dollars, placed me in possession of a neat, tidy room, upstairs, and I there wrote and slept for one month; taking my meals at a neighboring saloon.
The proprietress of my lodging-house, who was a German lady—one of the Germanest I ever saw—accompanied me to the hall-door as I walked out to have my trunk sent up. On reaching the foot of the stairs in the hall, I noticed a room on the left-hand side, with the door standing open, and, involuntarily glancing in, perceived that it was handsomely furnished.
“Dat,” said the landlady, whose knowledge of English, it will be perceived, was very imperfect, “is—is—two—ah—ah—play-mens—actors, you knows. Dey rent it from me. Dirty-five tollar pays.”
“Quite reasonable,” said I. “A nice room. Where do they play?”
“At de—de Deaters, you knows.”
I had naturally inferred as much, but pretended to receive this as a piece of extraordinary information, and said: