"Oh, well, what's good enough for the President I can put up with for a
couple of days."

The hand of the clerk descended on the bell. The negro sprang forward
and took the "grip."

"Eighty-five," said the clerk; and the drummer and the Negro
disappeared.

"Is there any place where I could leave my bag for a while?" the
professor at last said timidly to the clerk.

"Your bag?"

The professor held it up in view.

"Oh, your grip. Certainly. Have a room, sir?" And the clerk's hand
hovered over the bell.

"No. At least, not just yet. You see, I'm----"

"All right. The baggage man there to the left will check it for you."

"Any letters for Bond?" said a man, pushing himself in front of the
professor. The clerk pulled out a fat bunch of letters from the
compartment marked "B," and handed the whole lot to the inquirer, who
went rapidly over them, selected two that appeared to be addressed to
him, and gave the letters a push toward the clerk, who placed them
where they were before.