"Yes, sir; I believe his name is John—John R. Smith; he's a splendid artist, sir; his sketch or panorama is a beauty! Sir! did you ever see his panorama?"
"I think I did, in New York," I replied.
By this time some dozen or two visitors had congregated around us, and I was the centre of a considerable circle, and from the whispers, and pointing of fingers, I felt duly sensible, that, great or small, I was a lion! Under what auspices, I was in too dense a fog to make out; to me it was an unaccountable mist'ry.
"I'll tell you what I can do, sir," continued my toady; "I can have a small platform erected, outside of the cupola, for you, to place your designs or sketches on, and you'll not be so liable to be disturbed. Mr. Smith, he had a platform made, sir."
I beckoned the man to step aside, in the Senate Chamber.
"Now, sir," said I, "you will please inform me, who the devil do you take me for?"
"Oh, I knew who you were, the moment you came in, sir," said he, with a very knowing leer out of his half-squinting eyes.
"Did you? Well then I must certainly give you credit for devilish keen perception; but, if it's a fair question," I continued, "what do you mean by fixing a platform for my designs? You don't think I'm going to fly, jump or deliver orations from the cupola, do you?"
"No, I don't; but you're to draw a grand panorama of Boston, ain't you?"
"Me?"