“It was n't a civil one,” said the other, gruffly. “He said, 'You misapprehend me, Hotham. A sea-captain is only a boatswain in epaulettes. I mean the boy to be a gentleman.'”
“And you bore that?”
“Yes. Just as well as you bore his telling you at dinner on Sunday last that a Legation secretary was a cross between an old lady and a clerk in the Customs.”
“A man who scatters impertinences broadcast is only known for the merits of his cook or his cellar.”
“Both of which are excellent.”
“Shall I send him in, sir?” asked George, as he patted the young horse and caressed him.
“Well, Eccles,” cried Hotham, as the tutor lounged lazily tip, “what do you say to the mount they 're going to put your pupil on?”
“I wish they 'd wait a bit I shall not be ready for orders till next spring, and I 'd rather they 'd not break his neck before February or March.”
“Has Norcott promised you the presentation, Bob?”
“No. He can't make up his mind whether he 'll give it to me or to a Plymouth Brother, or to that fellow that was taken up at Salford for blasphemy, and who happens to be in full orders.”