At last a very sleepy-looking attaché, in a dressing-gown and slippers, made his appearance. “Nothing but these?” said he, yawning and pointing to the great sacks.
“No; nothing else for Turin.”
“Then why the——did you knock me up,—when it's only a shower-bath and Greydon's boot-trees?”
“How the——did I know what was in them?” said
Tony, as angrily.
“You must be precious green, then. When were you made?”
“When was I made?”
“Yes; when were you named a messenger?”
“Some time in spring.”
“I thought you must be an infant, or you 'd know that it's only the small bags are of any consequence.”