[Illustration: _Officer_. "WANT A NEW MESS-TIN, DO YOU? WHERE'S YOUR
OLD ONE?"

_Private_. "I HAVEN'T GOT IT, SIR." _Officer._ "WHY NOT?"

_Private_. "PLEASE, SIR, THERE'S A CHATEAU ON TOP OF IT, SIR."]

* * * * *

DR. SULLIVAN.

It had been decided that there never was such a resemblance as is to
be traced between my homely features and those of a visitor to the
same hotel last year--Dr. Sullivan of Wigley Street. This had become
an established fact irrefutable like a proposition of Euclid and
one of my new friends, who was also a friend of the Dr. Sullivan of
Wigley Street who had so satisfyingly and minutely anticipated my
countenance, made it the staple of his conversation. "Isn't Mr.
Blank," he would say to this and that _habitué_ of the smoking-room as
they dropped in from the neighbouring farms at night, "the very image
of Dr. Sullivan of Wigley Street, who was here last year?" And they
would subject my physiognomy to a searching study and agree that I
was. Perhaps the nose--a little bigger, don't you think? or a shade
of dissimilarity between the chins (he having, I suppose, only
two, confound him!), but taking it all round the likeness was
extraordinary.

This had been going on for some time, until I was accustomed, if not
exactly inured, to it, and was really rather looking forward to the