“Sir, this confirms to a nicety my metrostigmatic theory”.
“Dr. Hutton, I know not what you mean, neither do I wish to know”.
Cradock put on his neckerchief anyhow, and walked to his chair by the mantelpiece, although no fire was burning. The medical man said nothing, but gravely looked out of the window. Presently the young gentleman felt that he was not acting hospitably.
“Excuse me, sir, if I have seemed rude; but you do not know how these things—— I mean, when I think of my mother. Let me ring for some sherry and sandwiches; you have had no lunch”.
“Ring for some brandy, my boy; and give me a cheroot. Fine property! Look at the sweep of the land—and to think of losing it all”!
Instead of ringing, Cradock went and fetched the cognac himself, and took down a glass from a cupboard.
“Two glasses, my dear boy, two”.
“No, sir; I never touch it”.
“Then take it now, for the first time. Here, let me feel your pulse”.