Every week during the season he expects to slip off somewhere, for a day
or two, and hopes to have something worth telling when he comes back.
Last week he ran down to Long Branch. It's early yet, but folks like Mr.
P.; CHILDS, of the Philadelphia _Ledger;_ THOMPSON, of the Pennsylvania
Central; and other rich fellows always do go early. The big bugs always
fly the soonest. Mr. P. went directly to the West End Hotel--the old
Stetson House, you know. He went there because he always did like a
hotel that had three men to keep it. What you can't get out of one of
them is pretty certain to be screwed out of one of the others. "When Mr.
P. drove up, Messrs. PRESBURY, SYKES, and GARDNER, were all sitting out
on the front piazza, smoking seventy-five-cent cigars. They arose in
chorus, and assured Mr. P. that the house was not yet quite ready for
occupancy,

"But, sir--" said Mr. PRESBURY, "the Girard House, my hotel in
Philadelphia, is always open. If you would like to go there--" And here
SYKES struck in.

"But, sir," said he, "my hotel, WILLARD'S, in Washington, is always
ready for guests, and if you could go there for a while--"

But forward sprang GARDNER, and says he:

"But, sir--if you would like to run down to Cape May, you will find my
hotel--the Stockton House--" And here Mr. P. interrupted.

"Gentlemen," said he, "I would not have you quarrel, and you shan't
split on my rocks. Good evening to you all," and he drove directly to
General GRANT'S thirty-two thousand dollar cottage in the Park. GRANT