I laid hands on the flask and poured myself out a glassful.
“Here’s your health, sir,” I says, bowing to him.
“I never thought to find thee disaffected,” says he, taking no heed of my compliment.
“Have you done so, sir?” I asks him.
He favoured me with a hard look.
“Faith!” he says, half muttering to himself, “I don’t find much enthusiasm in you.”
“You forget, sir,” I answers, “that I am to be a lawyer. ’Tis not my trade to show my feelings, but rather to conceal them.”
“Be damned to your feelings!” he raps out. “’Slife, man, there are half the lads in England shouting for one side or t’other to-night, instead o’ sitting as you do with a face as long as those parchments you pour over.”
“I am quite agreeable, sir,” says I. “Let them shout—I suppose I have a right to preserve my voice for the courts of law.”