"Jump in, tickets for your baggage, sir, take you up—right off, best house in town, hot supper waitin'—way for the Adams House!"
And so they yell and grab at you, and our fussy friend, having heard of the tall arrangements and great doings of the American, he hands himself over to the coachman, and with a load of others he is rolled over to that institution, in a jiffy. Our fussy friend is slightly "took down" at the idea of paying for the hauling up, having a notion that that was a part of the accommodation! However, he ain't a going to look small or verdant; so he pays the coachman, grabs his valise, and rushes into the long colonnaded office; and making his way to the register, slams down his baggage, and in a dignified, authoritative manner, says—
"A room!"
"Yes, sir," responds the Colonel, or some of the clerks—who may be officiating.
"Supper!" says Capt. Fussy, in the same tone of command.
"Certainly, sir—please register your name, sir!"
Captain Fussy off's gloves, seizes the pen, and down goes his autograph, Captain Fussy, Thumperstown, N. H.
"Now, I want a hot steak!" says he.
"You can have it, sir!" blandly replies the Colonel.
"Hot chocolate," continues Fussy.