"I'd no patience with the man, he was all kinds of a fool. If he wanted her to be his wife, he didn't go the right way to get her. When she said no, instead of thanking God for his undeserved escape, he stormed and raved, fretted and fumed, until he became only fit to be exhibited in a booth at a fair."
"When he heard that she was in love with some one else, it was that that was the death of him."
"A good thing too. It'd have been a good thing if it had been the death of both of them. I've no bowels for such tomfoolery. Where is she? What's she doing? Is she married to the other fool? If she is, don't they both wish that they were dead?"
"You've a sharp tongue, Andrew--if your wits were like it! Not all married folks wish that they were dead; there's just as much desire to live among the married as among the single--maybe more. To hear you talk one would suppose that one had only to remain single to be happy. You and I know better than that."
"Speak for yourself, David, speak for yourself--I'm happy enough."
"Then your looks belie you."
"What's the matter with my looks, you old croaker?"
"I'm a doctor of medicine, Andrew McTavish; I've learned to turn the smoothest side to a patient; so you must excuse me if to your inquiry I return no answer."
"After the dinner I've given him!"
"It's the ill-assorted food you have caused me to cram down my throat that I'm beginning to fancy has given me a touch of the spleen."