“Do you know Skeff Darner, then?”
“Know him! I believe he 's about the fellow I like best in the world.”
“So do I,” cried the other, warmly; “he hasn't his equal living; he 's the best-hearted and he's the cleverest fellow I ever met.”
And now they both set to, as really only young friends ever do, to extol a loved one with that heartiness that neither knows limit nor measure. What a good fellow he was,—how much of this, without the least of that,—how unspoiled, too, in the midst of the flattery he met with! “If you just saw him as I did a few days back,” said Tony, calling up in memory Skeffy's hearty enjoyment of their humble cottage-life.
“If you but knew how they think of him in the Office,” said Blount, whose voice actually trembled as he touched on the holy of holies.
“Confound the Office!” cried Tony. “Yes; don't look shocked. I hate that dreary old house, and I detest the grim old fellows inside of it.”
“They 're severe, certainly,” muttered the other, in a deprecatory tone.
“Severe isn't the name for it. They insult—they outrage—that's what they do. I take it that you and the other young fellows here are gentlemen, and I ask, Why do you bear it,—why do you put up with it? Perhaps you like it, however.”
“No; we don't like it,” said he, with an honest simplicity.
“Then, I ask again, why do you stand it?”