“After my betters, sir,” was old Skinner's reply.
“Well, Dick, have you formed any opinion on this matter?”
“I have, sir.”
“I am extremely glad of it,” said the old gentleman, very sincerely, but with a shade of surprise; “out with it, Dick.”
The young man thus addressed by his father would not have conveyed to us the idea of “Dick.” His hair was brown; there were no wrinkles under his eyes or lines in his cheek, but in his manner there was no youth whatever. He was tall, commanding, grave, quiet, cold, and even at that age almost majestic. His first sentence, slow and firm, removed the paternal notion that a cipher or a juvenile had come to the council-table.
“First, sir, let me return to you my filial thanks for that caution which you seem to think has been excessive. There I beg respectfully to differ with you.”
“I am glad of it, Dick; but now you see it is time to relax, eh?”
“No, sir.”
The two old men stared at one another. The senile youth proceeded: “That some day or other our system will have to be relaxed is probable, but just now all it wants is—tightening.”
“Why, Dick? Skinner, the boy is mad. You can't have watched the signs of the times.”