At about ten o’clock, as I was preparing to go to bed, my bedroom companion entered. It was a frontier man in full uniform: Buffalo Bill hat, leather leggings, a belt accommodating a couple of revolvers—no baggage of any kind.
I did not like it.
“Hallo, stranger,” said the man, “how are you?”
“I’m pretty well,” I replied, without meaning a word of it.
The frontier man undressed, that is to say, took off his boots, placed the two revolvers under his pillows and lay down.
I liked it less and less.
By and by, we both went to sleep. In the morning we woke up at the same time. He rose, dressed—that is to say, put on his boots, and wished me good-morning.
MY ROOM-MATE.
The hall porter came with letters for my companion, but none for me. I thought I should like to let that man know I had no money with me. So I said to him: