“No. They've made him a governor or commander-in-chief of something in the Mediterranean; I forget exactly where or what.”
“You have brought me a mighty bag, Stevins,” said Upton, sighing. “I had hoped for a little ease and rest now that the House is up.”
“They are all blue-books, I believe,” replied Stevins. “There's that blacking your Excellency wrote about, and the cricket-bats; the lathe must come out by the frigate, and the down mattress at the same time.”
“Just do me the favor to open the bag, my dear Stevins. I am utterly without aid here,” said Upton, sighing drearily; and the other proceeded to litter the table and the floor with a variety of strange and incongruous parcels.
“Report of factory commissioners,” cried he, throwing down a weighty quarto. “Yarmouth bloaters; Atkinson's cerulean paste for the eyebrows; Worcester sauce; trade returns for Tahiti; a set of shoemaking tools; eight bottles of Darby's pyloric corrector; buffalo flesh-brushes,—devilish hard they seem; Hume's speech on the reduction of foreign legations; novels from Bull's; top-boots for a tiger; and a mass of letters,” said Stevins, throwing them broadcast over the sofa.
“No despatches?” cried Upton, eagerly.
“Not one, by Jove!” said Stevins.
“Open one of those Darby's. I 'll take a teaspoonful at once. Will you try it, Stevins?”
“Thanks, your Excellency, I never take physic.”
“Well, you dine here, then,” said he, with a sly look at the Princess.