“Cursed rot,” muttered the Squire. “That man will ruin the country. See if he don’t disestablish and disendow you, Archdeacon, before he dies.”
“Mr. Gladstone’s a good Churchman, I always understood,” demurred Edward.
“He’d rob his grandmother for power,” vowed the Squire.
“Perhaps Mr. Beaumont is an admirer of his?” queried his host.
“My grandfather was a Whig, my father a Liberal, and you may write me down a——”
“‘Not an ass,’ that’s the correct quotation, I believe.”
“No! a Radical.”
“That’s worse!” said the Squire, with emphasis.
“Radical lawyers are raræaves are they not, Mr. Beaumont?” asked the Archdeacon.
“Black swans. Black enough, I suppose, Mr. Wright thinks. Well, yes, in the country, men of my branch of the profession are generally Conservative. I don’t know why, except it be that they have the sense to know on which side their bread is buttered.”