"Certainly, sir!"
"Eggs, poached, and a—hot roll!"
"They'll be all ready, sir."
"How soon?"
"Five minutes, sir," says the Colonel, talking to a dozen at the same time.
"Ah, well—show me my room!" says Captain Fussy.
The bells are ringing—servants running to and fro, like witches in a whirlwind; fifty different calls—tastes—orders and fancies, are being served, but Capt. Fussy is attended to, a servant seizes his valise and a taper, and in the most winning way, cries—
"This way, sir, right along!" With a measured tread and the air of a man who knew what it was all about, the Captain follows the garcon and mounts one flight of the broad stairs, and is about to ascend another, when it strikes him that he's not going up to the top of the house, nohow!
"Where are you going to take me to—up into the garret?"
"Oh! no, sir; your room's only 182; that's only on the third floor!"