Everybody asked about our health.
Groomsmen bathed our throats, and sat up with us nights, and furnished us pocket-handkerchiefs.

For the first time in years we had quiet Sundays.
We overheard a conversation that made us think that the commerce and the fashion of the world waited the news from the stable.

Telegraphs announced our condition across the land and under the sea, and we came to believe that this world was originally made for the horse, and man for his groom.
But things are going back again to where they were.

Yesterday I was driven fifteen miles, jerked in the mouth, struck on the back, watered when I was too warm; and instead of the six quarts of oats that my driver ordered for me, I got two.

Last week I was driven to a wedding, and I heard music and quick feet and laughter that made the chandeliers rattle, while I stood unblanketed in the cold.