“Of that, sir, time will tell. You, Mr. McLiver, will not have to make up my loss.”
McLiver, finding it was useless to press the matter further, wished his chief good morning, and returned to his own office in a very bad humour.
On entering, he uttered the most awful imprecations against Welshmen in general, and Mr. Wynn in particular. He swore that he would be revenged. He turned to his cousin, and thus addressed him:—
“It is owing to you, you d—d scoundrel, that I owe my present disgrace.”
“To me, sir! What the d—l do you mean?”
“I mean, Donald, that if you had been steady and honest and plodding, this calamity would not have befallen our clan.”
“A fellow must have a spree, McLiver, now and then. That is human nature.”
“D—n human nature! Donald, you talk like a fool.”
“I’m sorry for you, cousin. I’m truly sorry for you.”
“It is a d—d bad job for me, that you have indulged in dissipation to the extent you have.”