'I beg your pardon,' said I, when the removed person of the driver
again admitted of my presenting my face at the portal. 'But -
excuse my curiosity, which I inherit from my mother - do you live
here?'

'That's good, too!' returned the little man, composedly laying
aside a pipe he had smoked out, and filling the pipe just brought
to him.

'Oh, you DON'T live here then?' said I.

He shook his head, as he calmly lighted his pipe by means of a
German tinder-box, and replied, 'This is my carriage. When things
are flat, I take a ride sometimes, and enjoy myself. I am the
inventor of these wans.'

His pipe was now alight. He drank his beer all at once, and he
smoked and he smiled at me.

'It was a great idea!' said I.

'Not so bad,' returned the little man, with the modesty of merit.

'Might I be permitted to inscribe your name upon the tablets of my
memory?' I asked.

'There's not much odds in the name,' returned the little man, ' -
no name particular - I am the King of the Bill-Stickers.'