“I suppose, because I’ve been drinking,” says the prodigal.
“Why didn’t you come out driving with me? The afternoon was lovely!”
“To pay visits at Richmond? Not as I knows on, ma’am,” says the invalid. “Conversation with elderly ladies about poodles, bible-societies, that kind of thing? It must be a doocid lovely afternoon that would make me like that sort of game.” And here comes a fit of coughing, over which mamma ejaculates her sympathy.
“Kick—kick—killin’ myself!” gasps out the captain, “know I am. No man can lead my life, and stand it. Dyin’ by inches! Dyin’ by whole yards, by Jo—ho—hove, I am!” Indeed, he was as bad in health as in morals, this graceless captain.
“That man of Lovel’s seems a d—— insolent beggar,” he presently and ingenuously remarks.
“O uncle, you mustn’t say those words!” cries niece Cissy.
“He’s a man, and may say what he likes, and so will I, when I’m a man. Yes, and I’ll say it now, too, if I like,” cries Master Popham.
“Not to give me pain, Popham? Will you?” asks the governess.
On which the boy says,—“Well, who wants to hurt you, Miss Prior?”
And our colloquy ends by the arrival of the man of the house from the city.