CHAPTER XI
THE ALPHABET OF 'THE MIRROR OF LIFE'
The next day the two conspirators were quite convinced that it would not be wise for them to stay any longer in the porter's room. The porter had begun to grumble and was quite bewildered at having seen his master first with a black moustache, then a green one, and finally without any moustache at all. There was no bed to sleep in, and there was such a stench in the room from the porter's new felt boots that Hippolyte and Bender decided to leave.
'It is high time for this evening of reminiscences to come to an end,' said Bender. 'We must move over to an hotel.'
Hippolyte jumped.
'That's impossible!'
'Why?'
'We shall have to sign our names in the hotel register.'
'Isn't your passport in order?' 'My passport is in order, but my name is well known in the town, and there'll be talk.'
"Do you like the name of Michaelson?' asked the resourceful Bender.
'Which Michaelson? The senator?'
'No, a member of the union,'
'I don't understand you.'
'Oh! that's only because you've not had sufficient experience. Don't be such a fool!'
Bender took his professional union book out of his breast pocket and handed it to Hippolyte.
'Konrad Karlovich Michaelson, aged forty-eight, non-party, bachelor, member of the union since 1921, a highly dependable person, my good friend, and I
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