Somehow, we got talking of Mr. Remington, which we might well do, seeing him there before us, sleeping like a baby.
"That he could always do, like Napoleon," said Mr. Lewis, "and so can accomplish much without fatigue."
"Is he married?" said I.
"Yes. His wife is in delicate health."
I was surprised to hear that he was married.
"He hasn't a married look, has he?"
"You are talking about me," said Remington, waking up. "I felt it mesmerically. And, to give you a good opportunity, I will walk a mile or two. Give me a good character, Lewis. Hold up, driver!"
Springing down, he went on, laughing, before us, now and then calling back to ask if we were nearly through?
"He has not the 'subdued domestic smile upon his features mild', that marks the man who has a wife at home," said I.
"No. He is a man, however, born under a lucky star, and his cup filled with good-fortune to the brim. His self-lordship has been to him no heritage of woe, thus far."