“I can’t help it, Tom,” I said. “I feel as if I should be a brute if I went on.”
“I say, Tony,” he said, after a pause, “how long is it since you have seen the young lady?”
“Nine years.”
“What do you say to a run down to Rowford?”
“Run down?” I said eagerly. “No, I could not. I am too busy over the preparations for the trial.”
“Nonsense, man. You told me only yesterday that you had done all your part, and that you meant to take a rest. I should like a run in the country.”
“At Miss Carr’s expense,” I said spitefully, “and charge it in her bill of costs as out of pocket.”
“Oh, that settles it,” he cried, jumping up and stamping about the room, roaring with laughter. “You must go for a run. Why, my dear boy, your liver’s out of order, or you, Antony Grace, the amiable, would never have made a speech like that. Look here, Tony, you have overdone it, and nothing will do you good but a week’s walking-tour.”
“Nonsense! Impossible!” I cried.
“Then you’ll break down like the governor did once. Ever since, he says that a man must oil his wheels and slacken his bands. Now you’ve got to oil your wheels and slacken your bands for a week. When shall we start?”