“Oh, I’m as sound as a bell,” he laughed.
Lord Blair’s face fell. If apoplexy were unlikely to carry him off, perhaps there was some hope of kidney-trouble: there were ominous pouches under the young man’s eyes.
“Some people,” he said, “find that they suffer out here from pains in the small of the back—stabbing pains, you know, with a sensation of burning....”
“Do they, now?” the other replied, quite interested. “No, I can’t say I ever felt ’em.”
Again Lord Blair’s hopes were dashed to the ground. He knew, however, that Barthampton was a heavy drinker, and he introduced the subject with manifest interest, and with a disregard of principle which sorely troubled him.
“Doctors sometimes advise abstemiousness out here,” he said, “but personally I think a little stimulant is a good thing.”
Lord Barthampton warmed to him. “So do I,” he replied heartily. “Still, for the present I’m absolutely on the water-waggon.”
“Dear, dear!” muttered Lord Blair, fidgetting openly. “Dear me!—dear me! That’s a little drastic, isn’t it?—a little unnecessary?”
“I don’t suppose I’ll keep it up for long,” was the reply.
“No, why should you?” Lord Blair commented, and the younger man thought him very broad-minded.