"Who is Joseph P. Mangles?" he asked, in his semi-inaudible monotone.

"An American gentleman--the word is applicable in its best sense--who
for his sins, or the sins of his forefathers, has been visited with the
most terrible sister a man ever had."

"So much I know."

Deulin turned and looked at his companion.

"Then you have met him--that puts another complexion on your question."

"I have just crossed the Atlantic in the next chair to him."

"And that is all you know about him?"

Cartoner nodded.

"Then Joseph P. Mangles is getting on."

"What is he?" repeated Cartoner.

"He is in the service of his country, my friend, like any other poor
devil--like you or me, for instance. He spends half of his time kicking
his heels in New York, or wherever they kick their heels in America.
The rest of his time he is risking his health, or possibly his neck,
wherever it may please the fates to send him. If he had been properly
trained, he might have done something, that Joseph P. Mangles; for he
can hold his tongue. But he took to it late, as they all do in America.