“There, let that alone!  Lock it.  Now chalk it.  Chalk all of the lot.  Now please come and show the hand-baggage.”

He plowed through the waiting crowd, I following, to the counter, and he gave orders again, in his emphatic military way: 

“Chalk these.  Chalk all of them.”

Then he took off his cap and made that beautiful bow again, and went his way.  By this time these attentions had attracted the wonder of that acre of passengers, and the whisper had gone around that the royal family were present getting their baggage chalked; and as we passed down in review on our way to the door, I was conscious of a pervading atmosphere of envy which gave me deep satisfaction.

But soon there was an accident.  My overcoat pockets were stuffed with German cigars and linen packages of American smoking tobacco, and a porter was following us around with this overcoat on his arm, and gradually getting it upside down.  Just as I, in the rear of my family, moved by the sentinels at the door, about three hatfuls of the tobacco tumbled out on the floor.  One of the soldiers pounced upon it, gathered it up in his arms, pointed back whence I had come, and marched me ahead of him past that long wall of passengers again—­he chattering and exulting like a devil, they smiling in peaceful joy, and I trying to look as if my pride was not hurt, and as if I did not mind being brought to shame before these pleased people who had so lately envied me.  But at heart I was cruelly humbled.

When I had been marched two-thirds of the long distance and the misery of it was at the worst, the stately station-master stepped out from somewhere, and the soldier left me and darted after him and overtook him; and I could see by the soldier’s excited gestures that he was betraying to him the whole shabby business.  The station-master was plainly very angry.  He came striding down toward me, and when he was come near he began to pour out a stream of indignant Italian; then suddenly took off his hat and made that beautiful bow and said: 

“Oh, it is you!  I beg a thousands pardons!  This idiot here—–­” He turned to the exulting soldier and burst out with a flood of white-hot Italian lava, and the next moment he was bowing, and the soldier and I were moving in procession again—­he in the lead and ashamed, this time, I with my chin up.  And so we marched by the crowd of fascinated passengers, and I went forth to the train with the honors of war.  Tobacco and all.

CHAPTER XXI.

Man will do many things to get himself loved, he will do all things to get himself envied. 
                                  —­Pudd’nhead Wilson’s New Calendar.