sir," he said. The cab rolled out of the station.

"I suppose," said Hephzy, reflectively, "if you had told him or that
porter man that they were everlastin' idiots they'd have thanked you
just the same and called you 'sir' four times besides."

"No doubt they would."

"Yes, sir, I'm perfectly sure they would--thank you, sir. So this is
London. It doesn't look such an awful lot different from Boston or New
York so far."

But Bancroft's, when we reached it, was as unlike a Boston or New
York hotel as anything could be. A short, quiet, eminently respectable
street, leading from Piccadilly; a street fenced in, on both sides, by
three-story, solid, eminently respectable houses of brick and stone. No
signs, no street cars, no crowds, no glaring lights. Merely a gas
lamp burning over the fanlight of a spotless white door, and the words
"Bancroft's Hotel" in mosaic lettering set in a white stone slab in the
pavement.

The cab pulled up before the white door and Hephzy and I looked out of
the window. The same thought was in both our minds.

"This can't be the place," said I.

"This isn't a hotel, is it, Hosy?" asked Hephzy.

The white door opened and a brisk, red-cheeked English boy in uniform
hastened to the cab. Before he reached it I had seen the lettering in
the pavement and knew that, in spite of appearances, we had reached our
destination.

"This is it, Hephzy," I said. "Come."

The boy opened the cab door and we alighted. Then in the doorway of
"Bancroft's" appeared a stout, red-faced and very dignified person, also
in uniform. This person wore short "mutton-chop" whiskers and had the
air of a member of the Royal Family; that is to say, the air which a
member of the Royal Family might be expected to have.

"Good evening, sir," said the personage, bowing respectfully. The bow
was a triumph in itself; not too low, not abject in the least, not
familiar; a bow which implied much, but promised nothing; a bow which
seemed to demand references, but was far from repellant or bullying.
Altogether a wonderful bow.

"Good evening," said I. "This is Bancroft's Hotel, is it not?"

"Yes, sir."

"I wish to secure rooms for this lady and myself, if possible."

"Yes, sir. This way, sir, if you please. Richard," this to the boy and
in a tone entirely different--the tone of a commanding officer to a
private--"see to the gentleman's luggage. This way, sir; thank you,
sir."

I hesitated. "The cabman has not been paid," I