"My dear chap, Scotsmen in Scotland and Scotsmen in England are two different things. Besides, I'm not down on them a bit. The Scotch are a supremely intellectual race, they are eminently gilt-edged. I knew that the Scotsman would never attack me, he'd rely on other people doing that. The Englishmen, hampered by their ingrained ideas of fair play, would have sent anonymous letters, warning me to be careful. The Welshmen would be very cautious. Only the Irishmen would act so promptly. This, of course, is only the opening of the ball. I'm going to stir up this hornet's nest properly, the place simply stinks of roguery, and I want your help. You'll stand by me, old chap?"
"Of course I will."
Darwen held out his hand, he looked at Carstairs with great admiration. "You're a pure Englishman, Carstairs, and I honestly believe the Englishman is the salt of the earth; he's a bit slow in the top story, but he's hard and fit, and he's a pal all the time, which I think is the real keynote of why he owns such a large section of the earth."
There was a knock at the door and the office boy entered.
"Councillor Donovan to see you, sir."
"Alright; show him in."
A tall, heavy-shouldered, large-headed man with a short nose and a long, clean-shaven upper lip, red-haired, and with a slight squint, rushed enthusiastically up to Darwen and shook him by the hand. "It's right pleased I am to see ye looking so well and fit after the dastardly outrage on ye last night, Mr Darwen."
Darwen smiled cordially, and returned his grasp warmly. "It's very kind of you, Mr Donovan, but it's the sort of thing that's only likely to occur once in a lifetime, thank God."
"Oh, yes, yes. Shure, an' such a thing cud niver happen again in a civilized town like Southville. I'm just off to call a special meeting of the police committee this minute, Mr Darwen."
"Ah! that's like you, Mr Donovan! So energetic. There's no fear of their going to sleep while you're on the council. I'm just off to Dr Jameson myself."