HOW I GOT MY OVERCOAT. 157 



to his knowledge of one Adolph Danforth, alias 

 Graf zu Dohna-Schlodien, alias Fritz Stabenow, 

 and had subsequently had an interview with that 

 interesting youth in the lock-up. 



The glory had all departed. He had been there 

 forty-eight hours, was unwashed, uncombed, stol- 

 id, comfortable, and quite at home. There was 

 no remnant left of the simple and modest de- 

 meanor of the well-bred aristocrat. It was hard 

 to see a trace of likeness to the Kiirassier officer 

 with whose photograph we were familiar. The 

 obligations of noblesse seemed to be entirely re- 

 moved, and there was nothing left but plain, 

 ignoble Fritz Stabenow. An examination of his 

 pockets developed a singular folly. He had kept 

 every scrap of paper on which a word had ever 

 been written to him. Tailors' bills, love-letters, 

 duns, photographs of half a dozen different girls, 

 all were huddled together. He had a package of 

 the Count Dohna cards and the plate from which 

 they had been printed, — made in Boston ; a let- 

 ter of credit from a banking-house in Berlin to 

 its New York correspondent had the copperplate 



