I hope so, poor devil! but I never found out.

We pulled up in front of the place I was going to in Wall Street, but I sat still in the carriage, and at last the driver scrambled down off his seat to see whether his carriage had not turned into a hearse.
I couldn't have got out, any more than if I had been a corpse.

What was the matter with me?
Momentary idiocy, you'll say.

What I wanted to get out of was Wall Street.

I told the man to drive down to the Brooklyn ferry and to cross over.