"
To which, from somewhere down below in obscurity, the voice of the
Boots comes up to me, "Capes in the hall," then something inaudible,
finishing with, "up there."
I return to my apartment. Lovely view. Open window. Balmy and
refreshing breeze. Becoming aware of the fact that I have left the
door open, expecting return of Boots with waterproof wrapper, I am
turning to shut it, when "to me enters" as the old stage-directions
have it, a distinguished-looking gentleman, bearded and moustached,
white-vested, and generally "in full fig."--(_Mem._--Write to _Notes
and Queries, Unde derivatur_--"Full fig?") who advances briskly but
quietly towards me. My visitor has evidently made some mistake in the
number of his room. At least, I hope the mistake isn't on _my_ part,
or on the urbane Manager's part, in putting me up here. Smart visitor
bows. I am about to explain that he is in error, and that this is my
room, when he deprecates any remark by saying, "Delighted to meet you;
my name is CAPES. The porter told me you wished to see me. I am sure,
Sir, I am more than delighted to see _you_!" and he proffers his hand,
which I take and shake heartily, at the same time wondering where on
earth we have met before, and why he should be so effusively joyful
at seeing me again.
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