“Your Madeira did it all, Millar. Why did you give the fellow such insinuating tipple as that old '31 wine?”
“I can't say that I was not forewarned,” continued Millar. “I was told, on his coming down to our neighborhood, to be careful of him. It was even intimated to me that his ungovernable and overbearing temper had wrecked his whole fortune in life; for, of course, one can easily see such a man ought not to be sentenced to the charge of a village dispensary.”
“No matter how clever you are, there must be discipline; that's what I've always told the youngsters in my regiment.”
The rector sighed; it was one of those hopeless little sighs a man involuntarily heaves when he finds that his companion in a tête-à-tête is always “half an hour behind the coach.”
“I intended, besides,” resumed Millar, “that Ogden should have recommended to the Government the establishment of a small hospital down here; an additional fifty or sixty pounds a year would have been a great help to Layton.”
“And of course he 'll do it, when you ask him,” said the hearty Colonel. “Now that he has seen the man, and had the measure of his capacity, he 'll be all the readier to serve him.”
“The cleverest of all my school and college companions sacrificed his whole career in life by shooting the pheasant a great minister had just 'marked.' He was about to be invited to spend a week at Drayton; but the invitation never came.”
“I protest, Millar, I don't understand that sort of thing.”
“Have you never felt, when walking very fast, and eagerly intent upon some object, that if an urchin crossed your path, or came rudely against you, it was hard to resist the temptation of giving him a box on the ear? I don't mean to say that the cases are parallel, but great people do, somehow, acquire a habit of thinking that the road ought always to be cleared for them, and they will not endure whatever interferes with their wishes.”
“But don't you think if you gave Layton a hint—”