And that evening Dick Little thought more of the sensibilities of publishers and the brains of authors than the ailments of his patients.
"Fancy publishers bein' as bad as that," remarked Bindle reflectively, as he took a long pull at his tankard. "They seem to beat foremen."
"Publishers," said Dare, "are pompous asses. If they were business men—if they were only men-of-letters, I would embrace them."
"P'raps that's why they ain't," suggested Bindle.
Dare joined in the laugh against himself.
"I have known some publishers," remarked Angell Herald with characteristic literalness, "who have been most excellent advertisers. I fear Mr. Dare is rather prejudiced."
"Shut up, Herald," broke in Dick Little, "you're thinking 'shop.'"
"P'raps they've got 'various' veins* in their legs, or else their missusses 'ave got religion," suggested Bindle. "It ain't fair to judge no man till you seen 'is missus, an' a doctor's seen 'is legs—beggin' your pardon, miss," this to Sallie.
*Bindle has been repeatedly refused for the Army on account of varicose veins in his legs, and he shows a tendency to regard this affliction as at the root of all evil.
CHAPTER VI