Sir John frowned. "Do you know," he said, after a pause, "that I dislike that young man exceedingly."
"Indeed?"
"He is altogether above his station. I believe he is clever, mind you, and all that, but what does a working-man's son want to bother himself with mechanics and chemistry for?"
"Why not?" the doctor asked, with slightly raised eyebrows.
"Why? Because this higher education, as it is called, is bringing the country to the dogs. Get an educated proletariat, and the reign of the nobility and gentry is at an end. You see the thin end of the wedge already. Your Board-school boys and girls are all cursed with notions; they are too big for their jackets, too high for their station; they have no respect for squire or parson, and they are too high and mighty to do honest work."
"I cannot say that has been my experience," the doctor said quietly; and he rose from his chair and began to pull on his gloves.
"You are not going?" Sir John questioned anxiously.
"For an hour or two. I should like, with your permission, to telegraph to Dr. Roscommon. You know he is regarded now as the most famous surgeon in the county."
"But surely, doctor——" Sir John began, with a look of consternation in his eyes.
"I should like to have his opinion," the doctor said quietly.