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Alonzo Fitz and Other Stories by Mark Twain

said he would not feel comfortable unless dressed by a practised hand.

However, he finally concluded that he was such old friends with the Earl

that it would not make any difference how he was dressed. So we took a

cab, he gave the driver some directions, and we started. By and by we

stopped before a large house and got out. I never had seen this man with

a collar on. He now stepped under a lamp and got a venerable paper

collar out of his coat pocket, along with a hoary cravat, and put them

on. He ascended the stoop, and entered. Presently he reappeared,

descended rapidly, and said:

“Come-quick!”

We hurried away, and turned the corner.

“Now we’re safe,” he said, and took off his collar and cravat and

returned them to his pocket.

“Made a mighty narrow escape,” said he.

“How?” said I.

“B’ George, the Countess was there!”

“Well, what of that?–don’t she know you?”

“Know me? Absolutely worships me. I just did happen to catch a glimpse

of her before she saw me–and out I shot. Haven’t seen her for two

months–to rush in on her without any warning might have been fatal.

She could not have stood it. I didn’t know she was in town–thought she

was at the castle. Let me lean on you–just a moment–there; now I am

better–thank you; thank you ever so much. Lord bless me, what an

escape!”

So I never got to call on the Earl, after all. But I marked the house

for future reference. It proved to be an ordinary family hotel, with

about a thousand plebeians roosting in it.

In most things Rogers was by no means a fool. In some things it was

plain enough that he was a fool, but he certainly did not know it.

He was in the “deadest” earnest in these matters. He died at sea, last

summer, as the “Earl of Ramsgate.”

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Categories: Twain, Mark
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