"Much the same as he managed you, sir, only——"
"Only?"
"Not so—so prompt, sir!"
"The devil he did! But Mancini's esteemed one of the best——"
"So were his honour, sir!"
"O!" said the Viscount, "and he didn't puff and he ain't sweating—my sawl!"
"'Tis use, nephew."
"And country air, sir! Look at you—young as you were five years since—nay, younger, I vow. Now look at me, a pasitive bunch of fiddle-strings—appetite bad, stomach worse, nerves—O love me! A pasitive wreck, Gad prasper me!"
The Major's sharp eyes noted the youthful, upright figure, the alert glance, the resolute set of mouth and chin, and he smiled.
"To be sure you are in a—er—a low, weak state of health, I understand?"