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