"Very good," said Jermyn, finishing his sherry.
"Well—a—Wace—a—so you will hear nothing about Pod's End?"
"Not I."
"A mere pocket-handkerchief, not enough to swear by-a—" here Jermyn's face broke into a smile—"without a magnifying-glass."
"Never mind. It's mine into the bowels of the earth and up to the sky. I can build the Tower of Babel on it if I like—eh, Mr. Nolan?"
"A bad investment, my good sir," said Mr. Nolan, who enjoyed a certain flavor of infidelity in this smart reply, and laughed much at it in his inward way.
"See now, how blind you Tories are," said Jermyn, rising; "if I had been your lawyer, I'd have had you make another forty-shilling freeholder with that land, and all in time for this election. But—a—the verbum sapientibus comes a little too late now."
Jermyn was moving away as he finished speaking, but Mr. Wace called out after him, "We're not so badly off for votes as you are—good sound votes, that'll stand the Revising Barrister. Debarry at the top of the poll!"
The lawyer was already out of the doorway.