“I can only say,” added Haire, “that I wish Colonel Sewell joy with all my heart; and if he 'll allow me, I 'll do it in a bumper.”
“'A reason fair to drink his health again!' That 's not the line. How does it go, Lucy? Don't you remember the verse?”
“No, sir; I never heard it.”
“'A reason fair,—a reason fair.' I declare I believe the newspapers are right. I am losing my memory. One of the scurrilous rascals t'other day said they saw no reason Justice should be deaf as well as blind. Haire, was that yours?”
“A thousand a year,” muttered Haire to Sewell.
“What is that, Haire?” cried the old Judge. “Do I hear you aright? You utter one thousand things just as good every year?”
“I was speaking of the Registrar's salary,” said Haire, half testily.
“A thousand a year is a pittance,—a mere pittance, sir, in a country like England. It is like the place at a window to see a procession. You may gaze on the passing tide of humanity, but must not dare to mix in it.”
“And yet papa went half across the globe for it,” said Lucy, with a flushed and burning cheek.
“In your father's profession the rewards are less money, Lucy, than the esteem and regard of society. I have ever thought it wise of our rulers not to bestow titles on physicians, but to leave them the unobtrusive and undistinguished comforters of every class and condition. The equal of any,—the companion of all.”