“A Splendid morning!” exclaimed Dr George Lawrence, as he entered the Salle à manger with an obviously new alpenstock in his hand.
“Jolly!” replied Lewis Stoutley, who was stooping at the moment to button one of his gaiters.
Lewis was addicted to slang, not by any means an uncommon characteristic of youth!
“The man,” he said, with some bitterness, “who invented big buttons and little button-holes should have had his nose skewered with a button-hook. He was an ass!”
In order to relieve his feelings and accomplish his ends, Lewis summarily enlarged the holes with his penknife.
“And round buttons, too,” he said, indignantly; “what on earth was the use of making round buttons when flat ones had been invented? A big hole and a flat button will hold against anything—even against Scotch whins and heather. There, now, that abominable job is done.”
“You are fond of strong language, Lewie,” said Lawrence, as he examined the spike at the end of his alpenstock.
“I am. It relieves my feelings.”
“But don’t you think it weakens your influence on occasions when nothing but strong language will serve? You rob yourself of the power, you know, to increase the force of it.”
“Oh bother! don’t moralise, man, but let’s have your opinion of the weather, which is an all-important subject just now.”