To hide the faults I see;
That mercy I to others show,
Such mercy show to me.’
“There!” he concludes, “I call that stanza a complete boxing of the religious compass.”
Gourgaud looks in professionally, and is inclined to take a solemn view of his patient’s health. He rebukes him for running about the garden among his guests.
“You should not have permitted it,” says Gourgaud, admonishing Aimee with upraised finger.
“But he refused to be restrained!” returns Aimee, ruefully.
“Gourgaud!” the patient breaks forth cheerily, “you know the aphorism: At forty every man is either a fool or a doctor. Now I am over forty; and, as a fellow-practitioner, I promise you that our patient, Paul Jones, is out of danger and on the mend.” Then, gayly: “Come, Gourgaud, don’t croak! Take a glass of wine, man; you frighten Aimee with your long looks.” Gourgaud takes his wine; but his looks are quite as long as before.
Abruptly and apropos of nothing, Admiral Paul Jones decides to make his will.
“Your will!” protests Gouverneur Morris, somewhat aghast. “But you haven’t been in such health for months.”