It was the fat man.
He was President of a Western bank.
His name was Figgs.
***
It was a damp, dull, dreary, drenching night, when the lumbering diligence bore the Dodge Club through the streets of Lyons and up to the door of their hotel. Seventeen men and five small boys stood bowing ready to receive them.
The Senator, Buttons, and Dick took the small valises which contained their travelling apparel, and dashed through the line of servitors into the house. The Doctor walked after, serenely and majestically. He had no baggage. Mr. Figgs descended from the roof with considerable difficulty. Slipping from the wheel, he fell into the outstretched arms of three waiters. They put him on his feet.
His luggage was soon ready.
Mr. Figgs had two trunks and various other articles. Of these trunks seven waiters took one, and four the other. Then
Waiter No. 12 took hat-box;
Waiter No. 13 took travelling desk;