Bethaal [really angry, and savage on that half of his face which is turned towards Hanno]: This gentleman’s wife!
Matho [showing great tact and speaking very rapidly in order to bridge over an unpleasant situation]: Wonderful chap this Hannibal! Dogged does it! No turning back! Once that man puts his hand to the plough he won’t take it off till he’s [tries hard, and fails to remember what a plough does—then suddenly remembering] till he’s finished his furrow. That’s where blood tells! Same thing in Tyre, same thing in Sidon, same thing in Tarshish; I don’t care who it is, whether it’s poor Barca, or that splendid old chap Mohesh, whom they call “Sterling Dick.” They’ve all got the blood in them, and they don’t know when they’re beaten. Now [as though he had something important to say which had cost him years of thought], shall I tell you what I think produces men like Hannibal? I don’t think it’s the climate, though there’s a lot to be said for that. And I don’t think it’s the sea, though there’s a lot to be said for that. I think it’s our old Carthaginian home-life [triumphantly]. That’s what it is! It isn’t even hunting, though there’s a lot to be said for that. It’s the old—— [Hanno suddenly gets up and begins walking away.]
Bethaal [leaning forwards to Matho]: Please don’t mind my cousin. You know he’s a little odd when he meets anyone for the first time; but he’s a really good fellow at heart, and he’ll help anyone. But, of course [smiling gently], he doesn’t understand politics any more than—— [Matho waves his hand to show that he understands.] But such a good fellow! Do you know Lady Hanno? [They continue talking, chiefly upon the merits of Hannibal, but also upon their own.]
The Strange Companion
IT was in Lichfield, now some months ago, that I stood by a wall that flanks the main road there and overlooks a fine wide pond, in which you may see the three spires of the Cathedral mirrored.
As I so gazed into the water and noted the clear reflection of the stonework a man came up beside me and talked in a very cheery way. He accosted me with such freedom that he was very evidently not from Europe, and as there was no insolence in his freedom he was not a forward Asiatic either; besides which, his face was that of our own race, for his nose was short and simple and his lips reasonably thin. His eyes were full of astonishment and vitality. He was seeing the world. He was perhaps thirty-five years old.
I would not say that he was a Colonial, because that word means so little; but he talked English in that accent commonly called American, yet he said he was a Brittishur, so what he was remains concealed; but surely he was not of this land, for, as you shall presently see, England was more of a marvel to him than it commonly is to the English.