The office was a spacious, steam heated apartment. Ben boldly affixed the name of "B. Cleveland, New York City," to the register, and the polite clerk asked him if he had had supper. Replying in the negative, he was informed that supper was still in progress, and pointed out the dining hall. But as he turned his steps toward the designated door, the polite clerk called to him:
"One moment, if you please, sir. Have you any baggage?"
"No sir," replied Ben in surprise.
"It is our invariable rule to ask a settlement in advance from those who have no baggage," said the polite clerk.
"Settlement!" exclaimed Ben growing red to the roots of his hair; "why I thought this was a charity!"
"Oh," replied the clerk, "you are in the wrong pew. Step around in the alley, and enter the first door to the right."
As Ben retreated his feelings were not improved by an audible titter indulged in by the loungers present.
(And right here permit us to parenthetically ask what it is that causes man to so enjoy the misery of his fellow man? Some one has discovered that the pinnacle of human happiness is based upon the miseries of others. Is it so? A drunken man reels, falls and breaks his nose. We laugh. A poor, poverty-stricken, hungry, ragged wretch is driven from a door. We laugh. A fellow mortal makes a mistake that causes him intense mortification and suffering. We laugh. What causes us to do all this laughing at the troubles of others?)
On the sidewalk Ben was met by the three bona fides, rubbing their hands in high glee.
"What did he tell you? What did he say? Did you gin him a racket? He won't take it, he won't. Ha, ha!" and the three were very merry, it afterwards appearing that the sending of fresh tramps into the hotel office to annoy the clerk, was an æsthetic diversion peculiarly acceptable to the trio.