“A lovely scene certainly!” said the professor. “Look, Lawrence, how well the mountain stands out above the town.”
“Humph, yes; it’s very pretty,” said the lawyer; “but give me Gray’s Inn with its plane-trees, or snug little Thavies’ Inn. This place is a sham.”
“But it is very beautiful seen from here, Mr Burne,” said Lawrence, who was feasting on the glorious sunlit prospect.
“Paint and varnish, sir, over rotten wood,” snorted Mr Burne. “Look at the drainage; look at the plagues and fevers and choleras they get here.”
“Yes,” said the professor, “at times.”
“Bah! very pretty, of course, but nothing like London.”
“With its smoke,” said the professor.
“Fine healthy thing, sir,” cried the old gentleman. “Magnificent city, London!”
“And its darkness and fogs,” said Lawrence.
“Well, who minds a bit of fog, so long as he is well?” cried Mr Burne. “Look here, young man; don’t you find fault with your own land. Stick up for it through thick and thin.”