As he spoke he seated himself upon the ground; and while he pulled long blades of grass, and, putting them between his thumbs, whistled shrilly, he said:
“I have never known but two men who reached their estates in Spain.”
“Indeed!” said I, “how did they go?”
“One went over the side of a ship, and the other out of a third story window,” said Titbottom, fitting a broad blade between his thumbs and blowing a demoniacal blast.
“And I know one proprietor who resides upon his estates constantly,” continued he.
“Who is that?”
“Our old friend Slug, whom you may see any day at the asylum, just coming in from the hunt, or going to call upon his friend the Grand Lama, or dressing for the wedding of the Man in the Moon, or receiving an ambassador from Timbuctoo. Whenever I go to see him, Slug insists that I am the Pope, disguised as a journeyman carpenter, and he entertains me in the most distinguished manner. He always insists upon kissing my foot, and I bestow upon him, kneeling, the apostolic benediction. This is the only Spanish proprietor in possession, with whom I am acquainted.”
And, so saying, Titbottom lay back upon the ground, and making a spy-glass of his hand, surveyed the landscape through it. This was a marvellous book-keeper of more than sixty!
“I know another man who lived in his Spanish castle for two months, and then was tumbled out head first. That was young Stunning who married old Buhl’s daughter. She was all smiles, and mamma was all sugar, and Stunning was all bliss, for two months. He carried his head in the clouds, and felicity absolutely foamed at his eyes. He was drowned in love; seeing, as usual, not what really was, but what he fancied. He lived so exclusively in his castle, that he forgot the office down town, and one morning there came a fall, and Stunning was smashed.”
Titbottom arose, and stooping over, contemplated the landscape, with his head down between his legs.