"A stifling hot day!" General Hobson lifted his hat and mopped his forehead indignantly.

"What on earth this place can be like in June I can't conceive! The tenth of April, and I'll be bound the thermometer's somewhere near eighty in the shade.

You never find the English climate playing you these tricks." Roger Barnes looked at his uncle with amusement.
"Don't you like heat, Uncle Archie?
Ah, but I forgot, it's American heat." "I like a climate you can depend on," said the General, quite conscious that he was talking absurdly, yet none the less determined to talk, by way of relief to some obscure annoyance.

"Here we are sweltering in this abominable heat, and in New York last week they had a blizzard, and here, even, it was cold enough to give me rheumatism.

The climate's always in extremes--like the people." "I'm sorry to find you don't like the States, Uncle Archie." The young man sat down beside his uncle.