“Have I your name, sir?” I inquired. “You know of my family, perhaps.”
“Colonel Jacob B. Sunderson, suh, at your service. Your family name is familiar to me, suh. I hark back to it and to the grand old State with pleasure. Doubtless I have seen you befoh, sur. Doubtless in the City—at Johnny Chamberlain’s? Yes?” His fishy eyes beamed upon me, and his breath smelled strongly of liquor. “Or the Astor? I shall remember. Meanwhile, suh, permit me to do the honors. First, will you have a drink? This way, suh. I am partial to 60 a brand particularly to be recommended for clearing this damnable dust from one’s throat.”
“Thank you, sir, but I prefer to tidy my person, first,” I suggested.
“Number Six for the gentleman,” announced the clerk, returning to me my change from the bill. I stuffed it into my pocket—the Colonel’s singular eyes followed it with uncomfortable interest. The gnome picked up my bag, but was interrupted by my new friend.
“The privilege of showing the gentleman to his quarters and putting him at home shall be mine.”
“All right, Colonel,” the clerk carelessly consented. “Number Six.”
“And my trunk. I have a trunk at the depot,” I informed.
“The boy will tend to it.”
I gave the gnome my check.
“And my bath?” I pursued.