He flung his whip—it was still serviceable—into a plantation, and when he found his breath he said:
“I think I should like a dish of tea.”
CHAPTER XXV
“If any one says that Mr. Long was not justified in his act, I tell him he lies,” remarked Dick grandly to the group who were propping up Mathews in a sitting posture on the grass.
The wretch seemed ludicrously out of place on the lawn, and the gentlemen who saw him there did not fail to perceive that the expression on the faces of the stone satyrs was for the first time appropriate. Had he been in the middle of a field of young wheat, he might have relieved a less disreputable figure from duty.
“Who is there that says Mr. Long was not justified?” cried one of the gentlemen; he was trying to remove a stain from his sleeve. “Good lud! does the lad think that county gentlemen are to learn discrimination as well as elocution from the Sheridan family?”
“The Sheridans take too much upon them,” said another; he was unlucky enough to have his wig trampled on by the huge foot of a first-class county gentleman in the melée, and was inclined to be testy in consequence. “Be advised, Mr. Sheridan, leave these matters to your elders and betters.”
Dick felt that he deserved the rebuke. His scarcely veiled threat savoured of impertinence. He lifted his hat and walked away. No one took any notice of him.