"So I do, T. I know the difference very well. It's all poison to me,—absolute poison,—as you're very well aware. But that filthy strong stuff that you've taken to lately, is enough to kill anybody."
"I haven't taken to any filthy strong stuff," said Tappitt.
This was the beginning of that evening's conversation. I am inclined to think that Mrs. Tappitt had made her calculations, and had concluded that she could put forth her coming observations more efficaciously by having her husband in bad humour, than she could, if she succeeded in coaxing him into a good humour. I think that she made the above remarks, not solely because the fumes of tobacco were distasteful to her, but because the possession of a grievance might give her an opportunity of commencing the forthcoming debate with some better amount of justified indignation on her own side. It was not often that she begrudged Tappitt his pipe, or made ill-natured remarks about his gin and water.
"T.," she said, when Tappitt had torn off his coat in some anger at the allusion to "filthy strong stuff,"—"T., what do you mean to do about this lawsuit?"
"I don't mean to do anything."
"That's nonsense, T.; you must do something, you know. What does Mr. Honyman say?"
"Honyman is a fool."
"Nonsense, T.; he's not a fool. Or if he is, why have you let him manage your affairs so long? But I don't believe he's a fool at all. I believe he knows what he's talking about, quite as well as some others, who pretend to be so clever. As to your going to Sharpit and Longfite, it's quite out of the question."
"Who's talking of going to them?"
"You did talk of it."