There was a suspiciousness about his tone that was almost insulting.
"I got it," I answered, with as much calm dignity as at the moment I could assume, "out of the train." "The fact is," I continued, frankly, "I have made a mistake." He did not allow me time to finish.

He merely said he thought so too, and blew a whistle.
Recollection of the subsequent proceedings is not, so far as I am concerned, amusing.

By a miracle of good luck--they say Providence watches over certain of us--the incident happened in Carlsruhe, where I possess a German friend, an official of some importance.

Upon what would have been my fate had the station not been at Carlsruhe, or had my friend been from home, I do not care to dwell; as it was I got off, as the saying is, by the skin of my teeth.

I should like to add that I left Carlsruhe without a stain upon my character, but that would not be the truth.