same tight-fitting, splay-footed trousers, enriched by a crease of
Jefferson's own making.

As he lay sprawled out on Hardy's divan, with his round, rosy,
clean-shaven face, good-humored mouth, and white teeth, the whole
enlivened by a pair of twinkling eyes, you forgot for the moment that he
was not really the sole owner of the establishment. Further intercourse
thoroughly convinced you of a similar lapse of memory on the major's part.

"My dear colonel, let me welcome you to my New York home!" he exclaimed,
without rising from the divan. "Draw up a chair; have a mouthful of mocha?
Jefferson makes it delicious. Or shall I call him to broil another
po'ter-house steak? No? Then let me ring for some cigars," and he touched
the bell.

To lie on a divan, reach out one arm, and, with the expenditure of less
energy than would open a match-box, to press a button summoning an
attendant with all the unlimited comforts of life,--juleps, cigars,
coffee, cocktails, morning papers, fans, matches out of arm's reach,
everything that soul could covet and heart long for; to see all these
several commodities and luxuries develop, take shape, and materialize
while he lay flat on his back,--this to the major was civilization.

"But, colonel, befo' you sit down, fling yo' eye over that garden in the
square. Nature in her springtime, suh!"

I agreed with the major, and was about to take in the view over the
treetops, when he tucked another cushion under his head, elongated his
left leg until it reached the window-sill, thus completely monopolizing
it,-and continued without drawing a breath:--