Matthew closed his ledger and looked up with one of his rare smiles.
“Going, Syl?”
“Yes. I 've been sent for, as usual. It's all very well for me to work at this ungodly hour. I'm a medical man, and I'm young. But I don't like to see you at it. You 're overdoing it, father.”
“Nonsense!” replied Matthew, cheerily; “I'm as strong as a horse and younger than you are. Besides, I was only amusing myself, like the king in his counting-house, counting out my money.”
He rubbed his eyes, yawned, and stretched himself contentedly in his chair.
“Usher kept me a long time,” he continued, “telling me one of his interminable yarns—a dormir debout, as the French say.”
“I can't think how you stand him,” said Sylvester.
“Oh, you can stand a devil of a lot if you try,” said the old man, laughing. “Have some whisky before you go?”
But Syl pleaded urgency, went out for hat and coat, and returned ready for departure. His father accompanied him to the front door.
“By the way, Syl,” he said, “do you really think so hardly of the woman who sins, or was it only that Usher made you contradictious?”