“He has gone to bed,” remarked the General, “but a nice supper has been prepared for you.”
“I am not hungry, I thank you; I am going to bed. Which room does Mr. Barnum sleep in?” said the little bantam, in a petulant tone of voice.
His question was answered; the young eaves-droppers scampered to their sleeping apartments, and the Commodore soon came to my room, where he found me indulging in the foolish habit of reading in bed.
“Mr. Barnum, does Tom Thumb board here?” asked the Commodore, sarcastically.
“No,” said I, “Tom Thumb does not board here. I invited him to stop over night, so don’t be foolish, but go to bed.”
“Oh, it’s no affair of mine. I don’t care anything about it; but I thought he had taken up his board here,” replied the Commodore, and off he went to bed, evidently in a bad humor.
Ten minutes afterwards Tom Thumb came rushing into my room, and closing the door, he caught hold of my hand in a high state of excitement and whispered:
“We are engaged, Mr. Barnum! we are engaged! we are engaged!” and he jumped up and down in the greatest glee.
“Is that possible?” I asked.
“Yes, sir, indeed it is; but you must not mention it,” he responded; “we agreed to tell nobody, so please don’t say a word. I must tell you, of course, but ‘mum is the word.’ I am going, Tuesday, to get her mother’s consent.”