I was still wearing the wonderful overcoat that had been given me by the Grand Duke Alexis, and it was a source of continuous admiration among the officers, who pronounced it the most magnificent garment of its kind in America.

The splendor of the general’s Michigan Avenue mansion was new to me; never before had I seen such vast rooms and such wonderful furnishings.  It was necessary to show me how the gas was turned on and off, and how the water flowed in the bathroom.  I moved around the place in a daze until “Mike,” taking pity on me, escorted me to a barroom, where I was more at home.  As we were partaking of a cocktail, a number of reporters from the Chicago papers came in.  They had been told of my visit and plied me with questions.  In the papers the next morning I found that I had had adventures that up to that time I had never heard of.  The next evening I had my first adventure in high society, and it proved more terrifying to me than any Indian fight I had ever taken part in.  Finding I had no proper raiment for a big ball, which was to be given in my honor, “Mike” Sheridan took me to the clothing department of Marshall Field’s, where I was fitted with an evening suit.

The general’s valet assisted me into these garments that evening.  My long brown hair still flowed down over my shoulders and I was determined to go to the barber’s and have it sheared before I made a public appearance, but General Sheridan would not hear of this.  He insisted that I crown my long locks with a plug hat, but here I was adamant.  I would go to the party in my Stetson or I would not go to the party at all.

The ball was held at the Riverside Hotel, which was then one of the fashionable hostelries of Chicago.  When I was escorted in, I was told to give the colored boy my hat and coat—­to this I violently objected.  I prized the coat beyond all my earthly possessions and intended to take no chances with it.  I was finally persuaded that the boy was a responsible employee of the hotel and reluctantly gave him the garment.  Then I suffered myself to be led into the ballroom.  Here I met a bevy of the most beautiful women I had ever seen.  Fearing every minute that I would burst my new and tight evening clothes, I bowed to them all around—­but very stiffly.  To the general’s request that I join in the next dance I entered a firm refusal.  I knew no dances but square dances, so they got up an old-fashioned quadrille for me and I managed somehow to go through it.  As soon as it was over, I hurriedly escorted my fair partner to her seat, then I quickly made my way to the barroom.  The man behind the bar appreciated my plight.  He stowed me away in a corner behind the icebox and in that corner I remained for the rest of the evening.

Several times the general and his friends came down to “moisten up,” and each time I heard them wondering aloud what had become of me.  When the music stopped and the party broke up I emerged from my hiding-place.  The next morning I reported to the general and explained to him that I was going back to the sagebrush.  If New York were like Chicago, I wanted to be excused.  But he insisted that I continue my trip.