A week after this, he was sitting in a double-bedded room in a cheap boarding house in Washington, with Col.  Sellers.  The two had been living together lately, and this mutual cavern of theirs the Colonel sometimes referred to as their “premises” and sometimes as their “apartments”—­more particularly when conversing with persons outside.  A canvas-covered modern trunk, marked “G.  W. H.” stood on end by the door, strapped and ready for a journey; on it lay a small morocco satchel, also marked “G.  W. H.”  There was another trunk close by—­a worn, and scarred, and ancient hair relic, with “B.  S.” wrought in brass nails on its top; on it lay a pair of saddle-bags that probably knew more about the last century than they could tell.  Washington got up and walked the floor a while in a restless sort of way, and finally was about to sit down on the hair trunk.

“Stop, don’t sit down on that!” exclaimed the Colonel:  “There, now that’s all right—­the chair’s better.  I couldn’t get another trunk like that —­not another like it in America, I reckon.”

“I am afraid not,” said Washington, with a faint attempt at a smile.

“No indeed; the man is dead that made that trunk and that saddle-bags.”

“Are his great-grand-children still living?” said Washington, with levity only in the words, not in the tone.

“Well, I don’t know—­I hadn’t thought of that—­but anyway they can’t make trunks and saddle-bags like that, if they are—­no man can,” said the Colonel with honest simplicity.  “Wife didn’t like to see me going off with that trunk—­she said it was nearly certain to be stolen.”

“Why?”

“Why?  Why, aren’t trunks always being stolen?”

“Well, yes—­some kinds of trunks are.”

“Very well, then; this is some kind of a trunk—­and an almighty rare kind, too.”

“Yes, I believe it is.”

“Well, then, why shouldn’t a man want to steal it if he got a chance?”

“Indeed I don’t know.—­Why should he?”

“Washington, I never heard anybody talk like you.  Suppose you were a thief, and that trunk was lying around and nobody watching—­wouldn’t you steal it?  Come, now, answer fair—­wouldn’t you steal it?

“Well, now, since you corner me, I would take it,—­but I wouldn’t consider it stealing.

“You wouldn’t!  Well, that beats me.  Now what would you call stealing?”

“Why, taking property is stealing.”

“Property!  Now what a way to talk that is:  What do you suppose that trunk is worth?”

“Is it in good repair?”

“Perfect.  Hair rubbed off a little, but the main structure is perfectly sound.”

“Does it leak anywhere?”

“Leak?  Do you want to carry water in it?  What do you mean by does it leak?”

“Why—­a—­do the clothes fall out of it when it is—­when it is stationary?”

“Confound it, Washington, you are trying to make fun of me.  I don’t know what has got into you to-day; you act mighty curious.  What is the matter with you?”