“That’s what I asked him once; but he says they didn’t fish for fun.”
“He distinguishes! Well, but what about the clergymen who make it their diversion, and then boast about their prowess in books?”
“Ask Easton for his opinion. I can assure you it’s worth hearing—if you like contempt red hot.”
“I don’t believe I do! I’d rather ask you. Is that his whole creed, anti-trouting?”
“No; hardly. He has a kindness for most of the human race as well as the lower animals. The only creature he really hates is the horse,” said Gilbert, with a laugh as of recollected mirth; and in fact Easton had been known in his army days for his antipathy to his chargers. He always got full service out of them by sheer force of will; but he never liked them, and never professed to understand them; the horse, he contended, was unfitted for a gentleman’s society by the blackguard company he habitually kept. “But I don’t think he’d do even a horse a wanton injury,” concluded Gilbert.
“Yes?” said Mrs. Farrell. “And the rest of his opinions?”
“Why, there are very few things that Easton hadn’t an opinion upon. It’s rather odd, don’t you think, to find a man in our age and country really caring enough for matters in general to make up his mind about them?”
“Very,” said Mrs. Farrell, twisting her slim shape round to take a handful of peas out of the basket behind her and putting them into her lap. “Go on.”
“That was all I had to say,” returned Gilbert, with a mocking light in his eyes.
“Oh, how can you be so cruel?—when I had just got ready to listen! Do go on!”