My arrival at Virginia City was signalized by the following
incident:
I had no sooner achieved my room in the garret of the International
Hotel than I was called upon by an intoxicated man who said he was
an Editor. Knowing how rare it was for an Editor to be under the
blighting influence of either spiritous or malt liquors, I received
this statement doubtfully. But I said:
"What name?"
"Wait!" he said, and went out.
I heard him pacing unsteadily up and down the hall outside. In ten
minutes he returned, and said:
"Pepper!"
Pepper was indeed his name. He had been out to see if he could
remember it; and he was so flushed with his success that he
repeated it joyously several times, and then, with a short laugh he
went away.
I had often heard of a man being "so drunk that he didn't know what
town he lived in," but here was a man so hideously inebriated that
he didn't know what his name was.
I saw him no more, but I heard from him. For he published a notice
of my lecture, in which he said I had A DISSIPATED AIR!