"My dear Major, I am pa'alized to think I kep' you waitin'. Just up
from my office. Been workin' like a slave, suh. Only five minutes to
dress befo' dinner. Have a drop of sherry and a dash of bitters, or
shall we wait for Fitzpatrick? No? All right! He should have been here
befo' this. You don't know Fitz? Most extraord'nary man; a great mind,
suh; literature, science, politics, finance, everything at his fingers'
ends. He has been of the greatest service to me since I have been in
New York in this railroad enterprise, which I am happy to say is now
reachin' a culmination. You shall hear all about it after dinner. Put
yo' body in that chair and yo' feet on the fender--my fire and yo'
fender! No, Fitz's fender and yo' andirons! Charmin' combination!"

It is always one of my delights to watch the colonel as he busies
himself about the room, warming a big chair for his guests, punching
the fire, brushing the sparks from the pile of plates, and testing the
temperature of the claret lovingly with the palms of his hands.

He is perhaps fifty years of age, tall and slightly built. His iron
gray hair is brushed straight back from his forehead, overlapping his
collar behind. His eyes are deep-set and twinkling; nose prominent;
cheeks slightly sunken; brow wide and high; and chin and jaw strong
and marked. His moustache droops over a firm, well-cut mouth and unites
at its ends with a gray goatee which rests on his shirt front.

Like most Southerners living away from great cities his voice is soft
and low, and tempered with a cadence that is delicious.

He wears a black broadcloth coat,--a double-breasted garment,--with
similar colored waistcoat and trousers, a turn-down collar, a shirt
of many plaits which is under-starched and over-wrinkled but always