“No, no, not yet. There, I’ll take a cigar and a B. and S.”
“Ah, do,” said Candlish sarcastically. “Make yourself at home, pray.”
“To be sure I will. I’ve come to doctor you and do you good.”
“Damn all doctors!” sneered Candlish.
“Amen,” said Cousin Thompson merrily, as he took a cigar, lit it, and helped himself to the brandy. “Look here, sir; you sit alone and mope too much. You want exercise.”
“How the devil am I to take exercise, when, as soon as I get on a horse, my head begins to swim?”
“And a pretty girl or two to see you.”
Tom Candlish uttered a low, blackguardly, self-satisfied chuckle.
“Eh? I say. Hallo!” cried Cousin Thompson. “Oh, I see. Well, mum’s the word. But, come; you do want change; you’re too much alone. Now I’ve come—”
“Oh, yes, you’ve come, and on a deuced friendly visit too.”