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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.

“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!”

“Third floor!” cries Capt. Fussy, “take me up into the third story?”

“Plenty of gentlemen on the fifth and sixth floors, sir,” says the servant, and he goes ahead, Capt. Fussy following, muttering–

“Pooty doin’s this, taking a gentleman up three of these cussed long stairs, to room 182! I’ll see about this, I will; mus’n’t come no gammon over me; I’m able to pay, and want the worth of my money!”

The third floor is reached, and after a brief meandering along the halls, 182 is arrived at, the door thrown open and Capt. Fussy is ushered in; his first effort is to find fault with the carpets, furniture, bedding or something, but as he had never probably seen such a general arrangement for ease, comfort and convenience–he caved in and merely gave a deep-toned–

” Ah. Got better rooms than this, ain’t you?”

“There may be, sir, a few better rooms in the house, not many,” said the servant.

“Well, you may go–but stop–how soon’ll my supper be ready?”

“There’ll be a supper set at eight, another at nine, sir.”

“Ah, four minutes of eight,” says Fussy, pulling out a “bull’s eye” watch, with as much flourish as if it was a premium eighteen- carat lever. “Well, call me when you’ve got supper ready, do you hear?”

“Yes, sir; but you’ll hear the gong.”

“The gong–what’s that? Ain’t you got no bells?”

“The gong is used, sir, instead of bells,” says the servant.

” Ah, well, clear out–but say, I want a fire in here.”

“Yes, sir; I’ll send up a fireman.”

“A fireman? What do I want with firemen ? Bring in some wood, and, stranger–start up–a hello! thunder and saw mills, what’s all that racket about–house a-fire?”

“No, sir! ” says the grinning servant–“the gong –supper’s on the table!”