“I’ll try.—Here, Silas, you don’t hate me?” said Calthorpe, going up to the blind man.
“No; you’re a well-meaning, ordinary sort of chap,” replied Silas.
“Yes, I don’t want to be anything else. Now see here, if you think work will keep your mind off things, you must come to work; but if you want to stop away, you can stop away for a week. Is that clear?”
“I’ll come to work. A man’s got a right to decide for himself, hasn’t he?”
“Of course he has; but don’t be too hard on yourself. Don’t get mulish. You don’t look right somehow. You’re all out of gear; small wonder just now, but you know as well as I do that you’re a bit ill-balanced at the best of times. Take it easy, Silas.”
“You mean well, I dare say.”
“Yes, I swear I do; don’t say it so grudgingly. See here: cling on to your political grievances, man; they’ll take your mind off your own troubles.”
“I know how to bear my own troubles.”
“I’m only giving you a hint; get angry over something. Go down and make one of your speeches to the debating society. I don’t share your views, and I disapprove of your methods, because they stir up trouble amongst the men, but I’d like to think that something was helping you.”
“Chatter!” said Silas suddenly.