"I did, sir," answered he with a bow.

"Then, sir, I must tell you that I am not that person, but Frederick
Stadt, student of philosophy in the University of Gottingen." He looked
incredulous.

"What, sir," said I, "do you not believe me?" He shrugged up his
shoulders.

"Confusion, sir! this is not to be borne. I tell you, sir, that my name
is Stadt." This I said in my loudest and most impassioned manner, but it
did not affect him in the least degree. He continued his eternal smile,
and had even the politeness or audacity (I know not which to call it) to
offer me his snuff-box. I was so enraged at this piece of coolness, that
I gave the box a knock, spilling its contents upon his scarlet
waistcoat. Even this did not ruffle him. He commenced, in the most
composed manner imaginable, to collect the particles, remarking with a
smile, "You do not like snuff, sir," and finishing, according to custom,
by one of his everlasting sneezes.

"It is impossible, sir," said I, "that you can mistake me for
Wolstang--seeing that, on my entry, you told me you expected that
gentleman in a short time, and desired me to be seated till he came in."
At this he seemed a little disconcerted, and was beginning to mutter
something in explanation, when I interrupted him. "Besides, sir,
Wolstang is a man at least six inches taller, four stones heavier, and
ten years older than I."

"What an immense fellow he must be, my dear friend! At that rate, he
ought to stand six feet eight inches, and weigh twenty stones."

I could hardly retain my gravity at this calculation. "Pray, what do you
take my stature and weight to be?"

"I should take you," replied he, "to be about six feet two inches high,
and to weigh some sixteen stones."

This admeasurement raised my merriment to its acme, and I laughed aloud.
"Know, then, my good little man, that all your geometry has availed you
nothing, for I only stand five feet eight, and never weighed more than
twelve stones." He shrugged up his shoulders once more, and put on
another of his incredulous looks.

"Eh, eh--I may be mistaken--but I--I--"

"Mistaken!" exclaimed I; "zounds, you were never more egregiously
mistaken, even when you advocated the Pythagorean doctrine of
Metempsychosis!"

"I may be wrong, but I could lay five gilders that I am right. I never
bet high--just a trifle, just a trifle occasionally."

"You had better keep your gilders in your pocket," said I, "and not risk
them so fooli