“That’s a wise-like sentiment,” returned his friend, with an approving nod and thoughtful frown.
“Now, as you write a capital hand, and know how to express yourself on paper,” continued Hardy, “it strikes me that you will do the job better than any one else; and, being a friend, I feel that I can talk freely to you on my private affairs. So you’ll help me?”
“I’m wullin’ to try, serjint, and ac’ the legal adviser—amytoor-like, ye ken.”
“Thank you. Can you come to-morrow morning?”
“No, serjint, I canna, because I’ve to start airly the morn’s mornin’ wi’ a pairty to meet the Scots Gairds comin’ back frae Tamai, but the moment I come back I’ll come to ye.”
“That will do—thank you. And now, Gaspard, what’s the news from England? I hear that a mail has just come in.”
“News that will make your blood boil,” said Gaspard sternly.
“It would take a good deal of powerful news to boil the little blood that is left in me,” said Hardy, languidly.
“Well, I don’t know. Anyhow it makes mine boil. What d’you think of McNeill’s brave defence being represented in the papers as a disaster?”
“You don’t mean that!”