He found his friend as usual the picture of dried-up coolness, so to say.

Mr.Barker never seemed to be warm, but he never seemed to feel cold either, and at this moment, as he sat in a half-lighted room, clad in a variety of delicate gray tints, with a collar that looked like fresh-baked biscuit ware, and a pile of New York papers and letters beside him, he was refreshing to the eye.
"Upon my word, Barker, you always look cool," said the Duke, as he sat himself down in an arm-chair, and passed his handkerchief round his wrists.

"I would like to know how you do it." "To begin with, I do not rush madly about in the sun in the middle of the day.

That may have something to do with it." The Duke sneezed loudly, from the mingled dust and sunshine he had been inhaling.
"And then I don't come into a cold room and catch cold, like you.

Here I sit in seclusion and fan myself with the pages of my newspapers as I turn them over." "You have got us all into the deuce of a mess with your confounded coolness," said the Duke after a pause, during which he had in vain searched all his pockets for his cigar-case.