Guards at both ends, sergeant taking tickets, an' Third Regiment Band makin' music.
Hell of a swell affair; got guests here from Leavenworth, Wallace, and all around.

Every room I got is full an' runnin' over--say, there are fellars over thar in them fool swaller-tail coats; damned if there ain't.

If the b'ys ever git sight of 'em on the street there 'll be a hot time.

Say, ain' that the limit?
Injuns out thar thick as fleas on a dog, an' them swells dancin' here in swaller-tails like this yere was Boston." He was still talking when Hamlin crossed the narrow hall and entered the dimly-lighted, unoccupied parlor.

The side window was open, a slight breeze rustled the heavy curtain, and the Sergeant stepped outside on to the dark porch.