“We will pledge you a sentiment in it, sir, as it seems to suit your taste,” said Mr. Wharton.
Lawton filled to the brim, and drank, “A speedy peace, or a stirring war.”
“I drink your toast, Captain Lawton, though I greatly distrust your construction of activity,” said the surgeon. “In my poor judgment, cavalry should be kept in the rear to improve a victory, and not sent in front to gain it. Such may be said to be their natural occupation, if the term can be used in reference to so artificial a body; for all history shows that the horse have done most when held in reserve.”
This dissertation, uttered in a sufficiently didactic manner, was a hint that Miss Peyton did not neglect. She arose and retired, followed by her juniors.
Nearly at the same moment, Mr. Wharton and his son made an apology for their absence, which was required on account of the death of a near neighbor, and withdrew.
The retreat of the ladies was the signal for the appearance of the surgeon’s cigar, which, being established in a corner of his mouth, in a certain knowing way, caused not the slightest interruption to his discourse.
“If anything can sweeten captivity and wounds, it must be the happiness of suffering in the society of the ladies who have left us,” gallantly observed the colonel, as he resumed his seat after closing the door.
“Sympathy and kindness have their influence on the human system,” returned the surgeon, knocking the ashes from his cigar, with the tip of a little finger, in the manner of an adept. “The connection is intimate between the moral and physical feelings; but still, to accomplish a cure, and restore nature to the healthy tone it has lost from disease or accident, requires more than can flow from unguided sympathies. In such cases, the lights—” the surgeon accidentally caught the eye of the trooper and he paused. Taking two or three hasty puffs, he essayed to finish the sentence, “In such cases, the knowledge that flows from the lights—”
“You were saying, sir,” said Colonel Wellmere, sipping his wine,—
“The purport of my remark went to say,” continued Sitgreaves, turning his back on Lawton, “that a bread poultice would not set a broken arm.”