"Plague take it!" says he, running his eye down the Voters' List between his sips of coffee. "I've clean neglected that old lady and her brew. I suppose 'tis dreadful stuff?" he goes on, rather anxious-like, lifting an eye towards the old Squire.
"I've never had the privilege to taste it," says the Squire.
"Oh, 'tis none so bad," puts in the Major carelessly.
"Why, Dyngwall—how the Dickens alive do you know?"
"I dropped in the other day—in fact, I've called once or twice. The old lady's monstrous entertaining," answered the Major, pretty pink in the face.
"O-ho!" Lord William screwed up one eye. "And so, belike, are the eight handsome daughters? But look ye here, Dyngwall," says he, "I can't have you skirmishing on your own account in this fashion. If there's a baby left to be kissed in this town—or anything older, for that matter—we go shares, my lad."
"You needn't be so cussedly offensive, need you?" says the Major, firing up, to the astonishment of all.
Lord William looks at him for a moment. "My dear fellow," says he, "I beg your pardon."
And the Major was mollified at once, the two (as I said) being old friends.
"But all the same," says his Lordship to himself, "I'd best go call on this old lady without losing time." So he put it to Squire Martin: "I've a promise to keep, and tomorrow we shall be busy-all. Couldn't we start early to-day, and pay Mrs. Lebow a visit on our way to church?"