"Not exactly, Mr. Kennedy—many years ago I have recollections of a school treat at a watering-place near the river's mouth—an exceedingly muddy place since become famous, I understand. But I take the children to Eastbourne now."
"They find that a bit slow, don't they? Kids love mud, you know."
"They do—upon my word. A child's love of mud is one of the most incurable things in nature."
"Then why try to cure it?"
"But what are you to do?"
"Wash them, sir,—you can always do that. My father was a parson, you know—"
"Good heavens, a clergyman—and you are come to—that is, you choose to live amidst these dreadful surroundings?"
"I do not choose—death chose for me."
"My poor boy—"
"Not at all, sir. Give a man a good appetite and enough to gratify it, and I don't know that other circumstances count much."