With reference to the beds, Mr. Pigworth remarked: 

“Podhammer and Gineral Chetley slept in that air one.  Colonel Hockensacker and Judge Waterfield in t’other.  There was four other mattresses put down here that night, each of ’em with two of our most distinguished citizens on it.  That convention was worth to me a good hundred dollars.”

With every respect for the precedent established by Podhammer and associates, Marcus Wilkeson preferred to sleep alone, as he had done for twenty years.  He privately expressed to the landlord a desire for one of the mattresses which had done duty during the convention.

The landlord smiled, evidently regarding the request as eccentric and unreasonable, but nodded “All right.”  As for Tiffles and Patching, having shared the same couch several nights during the incubation of the panorama, the problem of how to distribute three men among two beds gave them no concern.  Pigworth then retired.

Marcus Wilkeson’s first act was to open the windows, and mix some fresh air with the damp and mouldy atmosphere of the apartment.  Patching’s first act was to light his pipe, and throw himself on the nearest bed for a smoke.  Tiffles’s first act was to inspect the rent which the impertinent small boy had discovered, and make temporary repairs with a pin.  Having done these things, and arranged their toilets hastily in a mirror with a crack running through it like a streak of lightning, the three adventurers sallied forth, and crossed the street to Washington Hall.

CHAPTER IV.

STOOP.

Washington Hall was the only place of public congregation, excepting the churches, in the village.  It was used on Sunday by a small but clamorous religious sect; on Monday by a lodge of Free Masons; on Tuesday by a lodge of Odd Fellows; on Wednesday by the Sons of Temperance; and for the balance of the week was open to any description of exhibition that came along.  It was originally built for a loft, and its reconstruction into a public hall was an afterthought.  It was situated over a drug store, and was owned by the druggist, Mr. Boolpin, who was universally regarded as the meanest man in the village.

As the three drew near the door, Mr. Boolpin, strongly smelling of aloes, and carrying a pestle in his hand, came out to greet them.  He, in common with all the inhabitants, knew that the “pannyrarmer folks” were in town.  The small boys had borne the glad intelligence all abroad.  A number of citizens, who had been lying in wait, issued forth with Mr. Boolpin, and looked hard at the three.

“The proprietor of the hall,” said Mr. Boolpin, introducing himself.

“My name is Wesley,” responded Tiffles.  He then introduced Patching as Signor Ceccarini, and Wilkeson as Mr. Wilkes.  Patching chuckled inwardly at the thought of the incognito, and imagined the sensation that would be produced by the accidental revelation of his real name.  Marcus felt a momentary humiliation at having consented to this innocent imposture.