"I am, sir—you are mistaken."
"I am very sorry."
"I thank you for your sympathy," said Roundjacket, running his fingers through his straight hair; "I think, sir I mentioned, the other day, that I expected to be laid up."
"Mentioned?"
"On the occasion, sir—"
"Oh, the paper!" said Verty, smiling; "you don't mean—"
"I mean everything," said Roundjacket; "I predicted, on that occasion, that I expected to be laid up, and I am, sir."
This was adroit in Roundjacket. It was one of those skillful equivocations, by means of which a man saves his character for consistency and judgment, without forfeiting his character for truth.
"Well, it was very bad," said Verty.
"Bad is not the word—abominable is the word—disgraceful is the word!" cried Roundjacket, flourishing his ruler, and suddenly dropping it as a twinge shot through his shoulder.