“Ay, but it's a soft day,” said Sir James, removing his gloves. “Ye'll not be gadding about in this weather.”
“You got my note of introduction, I suppose?” said the consul, when the momentous topic of the weather was exhausted.
“Oh, ay.”
“And you saw the gentlemen?”
“Ay.”
“And what's your opinion of—his claims?”
“He's a fine lad—that Malcolm—a fine type of a lad,” said Sir James, with an almost too effusive confidence. “Ye'll be thinking so yourself—no doubt? Ay, it's wonderful to consider the preservation of type so long after its dispersal in other lands. And it's a strange and wonderful country that of yours, with its plantations—as one might say—of homogeneity unimpaired for so many years, and keeping the old faith too—and all its strange survivals. Ay, and that Kentucky, where his land is—it will be a rich State! It's very instructing and interesting to hear his account of that remarkable region they call 'the blue grass country,' and the stock they raise there. I'm obliged to ye, my friend, for a most edifying and improving evening.”
“But his claim—did he not speak of that?”
“Oh, ay. And that Mr. Custer—he's a grand man, and an amusing one. Ye'll be great comrades, you and he! Man! it was delightful to hear him tell of the rare doings and the bit fun ye two had in the old times. Eh, sir, but who'd think that of the proper American consul at St. Kentigern!” And Sir James leaned back in his chair, and bestowed an admiring smile on that official.
The consul thought he began to understand this evasion. “Then you don't think much of Mr. McHulish's claim?” he said.