The old man laughed in a jaunty way.

"Show _me_ round?" he said. "Why, my dear boy, _I live
here_."

"I know you did long ago," I said.

"I do still," said Father Knickerbocker. "I've never left
the place. I'll show _you_ around. But wait a bit--don't
carry that handbag. I'll get a boy to call a porter to
fetch a man to take it."

"Oh, I can carry it," I said. "It's a mere nothing."

"My dear fellow," said Father Knickerbocker, a little
testily I thought, "I'm as democratic and as plain and
simple as any man in this city. But when it comes to
carrying a handbag in full sight of all this crowd, why,
as I said to Peter Stuyvesant about--about"--here a misty
look seemed to come over the old gentleman's face--"about
two hundred years ago, I'll be hanged if I will. It can't
be done. It's not up to date."

While he was saying this, Father Knickerbocker had beckoned
to a group of porters.

"Take this gentleman's handbag," he said, "and you carry
his newspapers, and you take his umbrella. Here's a
quarter for you and a quarter for you and a quarter for