t
day I happened to "strike" him in the street.

"I've been on the look-out for you everywhere, Mr. French" (I had given
him my assumed name in the train). "I am very anxious to show you all
over this beautiful city, and my brother the Judge is also anxious that
you should dine at his house."

I thanked him most cordially, and accepted his kind offer, saying that I
should be ready for him at my hotel at 9 o'clock the next morning. We
parted, but my conscience pricked me for giving him a false name, so I
hurried back after him and explained to him the whole circumstance. It
was flattering to me to see that he took a greater interest than ever in
being my guide. The next morning Mr. French (to all but my new
acquaintance) was in the hall of the "Arlington" at the appointed time.
I waited and waited, but my guide did not put in an appearance.
Presently a strange gentleman came up to me, and boldly addressed me by
my proper name. I saw at once I was in the clutches of an interviewer,
so I point-blank contradicted him, and asserted that my name was French.

"That won't do for me," he said.

"Then you won't do for me," I said, and turned upon my heel.

However, I rather liked the look of the man, and didn't like to
disappoint him altogether, being a journalist myself.

"I am waiting for a gentleman," I said. "I expect him every minute, and
then I must be off."

"You may wait, but I guess that gentleman won't arrive," said the
journalist, "and I want a column out of you for our evening paper."

A frightful thought flashed across my mind.

"Have I been sold?"

I had, and I thought more of the gentleman of the Press (all the
Pressmen were very kind to me in Washington, and, indeed, all over
America) than I did of my newly-made erratic acquaintance.

When I paid my second and professional visit to Washington years
afterwards, of course it was a different matter. My representative had
for business reasons to invite the Press to "boom" me. I was rated a
good subject for interviewers, being only too pleased to do my best for
our mutual benefit. One day a representative of the important Washington
family paper called. We lunched and chatted, and subsequently over a
cigar he informed me that he knew nothing about art or artists or
politics, nor had he any object in common with me--in fact, he was the
sporting editor. The interview appeared--two long columns on prize
fighting! I was the innocent "peg" upon which the sporti