ng the parlor, I found
it monopolized by a young lady in green silk and red ribbons, and a pink
young man with his hair parted in the middle and his shirt-bosom
resplendent with brilliants of the last water. They were at the piano,
singing "Days of Absence" in a manner calculated to depress the most
buoyant spirits. I rang the bell, and the green young lady and pink
young man began on the second verse. No answer. Again I rang the bell,
and the songsters began on the third verse. No answer. Once more I rang
the bell, and the green young lady and pink young man piped upon the
touching lay of "No one to love." Little cared those "two souls with
but a single thought, two hearts that beat as one," for the third heart
and soul, victim of misplaced confidence. Ring! I rang that bell until I
ached to be a man for one brief moment. Does a man ever endure such
torture? No. He puts on his hat, walks into the hotel office, gives
somebody a piece of his mind, and demands the satisfaction of a
gentleman. But a woman can go to no office. She must remain up stairs
and cultivate patience on hunger and thirst and a general mortification
of the senses. "Victory, or destruction to the bell!" I said at last,
and pulled the rope with the desperation of a maniac.

"Did you ring?" asked a mild clerk, entering on the tips of his toes as
if there were not enough of him to warrant so extravagant an expenditure
as the use of his whole sole. Did I ring? I who had been doing nothing
else for half an hour! I who had but forty-five minutes in which to eat
my supper and dress for the lecture!

Presenting my card, I desired the mild clerk to show me to my room. The
mild clerk was exceedingly sorry, but the committee had left no order,
and there was not a vacant room in the house!

"What am I to do?" I asked in agony of spirit. "I _must_ have a room."

_Must_ is an overpowering word. Only say _must_ with all the emphasis of
which it is capable, and longings are likely to be realized.

Well, the mild clerk didn't know but as how he might turn out and let me
have _his_ room.

Blessed man! Had I been pope, he should have been canonized on the spot.
Following him up several steep flights of stairs, lighted by a kerosene
lamp that perfumed the air as only kerosene can, I was at last ushered
into a room where sat a young girl knitting. She seemed to be no more
astonished at my appearance than were the chairs and table, merely
remarking, when we were left