as a sort of General-Director and Personal Conductor to our party.
"Had we got our tickets through COOK, and asked him to secure our
places in the train?" he inquired. "We had." "Ha! then it would be
all right." And it was. On our arriving at Calais, no crush, or
excitement, and fighting for places. We were met by three courteous,
military-looking officials, who talked four languages between them,
and ushered us to our "reserved" places. Royalty could not have fared
better. "You're all right with COOK," observed Dr. MELCHISIDEC. "He's
got a man everywhere; and, if there's any hitch, you've only got
to call him in. A clear case of too many Cooks _not_ spoiling the
broth." And so we found it. I had always hitherto considered Cook's
Excursionists as rather a comic institution, and as something to be
laughed at. Nothing of the sort. "Blessed be COOK!" say I. All I
know is, that we found his name a perfect tower of strength along
the entire route we traversed.

And now we were whirling along towards Basle in the rather stuffy
splendours provided for us by the Compagnie Internationale des Wagons
Lits, that reminded one, as much as anything of being fixed into
one's allotted place in a sort of gigantic Gladstone Bag--an illusion
assisted, no doubt, by the prominence of a deal of silver-plated
fittings, in the shape of knobs and door-handles, all somewhat
tarnished and dusty. True, the compartment, which gave on to a
corridor running the whole length of the carriage, was provided with
a table, an inkstand, a large pan for cigar-ash, and a colossal
spittoon; but as one had no immediate need of any of these things,
and they filled up the already sufficiently limited space, one was
strongly disposed, but for the presence of the military official of
the Wagons Lits who paced the corridor before alluded to, to pitch
them all out of the window then and there. But it was drawing on