ge from country hostelries!" soliloquized the manager,
after the company were installed in commodious rooms. "No more inns
where soap and towels are common property, and a comb, without its
full complement of teeth, does service for all comers!" he continued,
gazing around the apartment in which he found himself. "Think of real
gas in your room, Barnes, and great chairs, easy as the arms of
Morpheus! Are you comfortable, my dear?" he called out.

Constance's voice in an adjoining room replied affirmatively, and he
added: "I'm going down stairs to look around a bit."

Beneath the porch and reception hall extended the large bar-room,
where several score of men were enjoying their liquors and lunches,
and the hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses and the noise
made by the skilful mixer of drinks were as sweet music to the
manager, when shortly after he strode to the bar. Wearing neither coat
nor vest, the bartender's ruffled shirt displayed a glistening stone;
the sleeves were ornamented with gold buttons and the lace collar had
a Byronic roll.

"What will you have, sir?" he said in a well-modulated voice to a big
Virginian, who had preceded Barnes into the room.

"A julep," was the reply, "and, while you are making it, a little
whisky straight."

A bottle of bourbon was set before him, and he wasted no valuable time
while the bartender manipulated the more complicated drink.
Experiencing the felicity of a man who has entered a higher
civilization, the manager ordered a bottle of iced ale, drank it with
gusto, and, seating himself, was soon partaking of a palatable dish.
By this time the Virginian, joined by a friend, had ordered another
julep for the near future and a little "straight" for the immediate
present.

"Happy days!" said the former.

"And yours happier!" replied the newcomer.

"Why, it's Utopia," thought Barnes. "Every one is happy!"

But even as he thus ruminated, his glance fell upon an old man at the
next table whom the waiters treated with such deference the manager
concluded he must be some one of no slight importance. This gentleman
was thin, wrinkled and worn, with a face Voltairian in type, his hair
scanty, his dress elegant, and his satirical smile like the "flash of
a dagger in the sunlight." He was inspecting his bouillon with
manifest distrust, adjusting his eye-glass and thrusting his head
close to the plate. The look of suspicion deepened and finally a
grimace of triumph illumin