And he inflates his broad chest to its utmost extent as if to assure himself that he is not smothered yet.
“If you have come to give me a friendly call,” continues Mr. George, “I am obliged to you; how are you? If you have come to see whether there’s any property on the premises, look about you; you are welcome. If you want to out with something, out with it!”
The blooming Judy, without removing her gaze from the fire, gives her grandfather one ghostly poke.
“You see! It’s her opinion too. And why the devil that young woman won’t sit down like a Christian,” says Mr. George with his eyes musingly fixed on Judy, “I can’t comprehend.”
“She keeps at my side to attend to me, sir,” says Grandfather Smallweed. “I am an old man, my dear Mr. George, and I need some attention. I can carry my years; I am not a brimstone poll-parrot” (snarling and looking unconsciously for the cushion), “but I need attention, my dear friend.”
“Well!” returns the trooper, wheeling his chair to face the old man. “Now then?”
“My friend in the city, Mr. George, has done a little business with a pupil of yours.”
“Has he?” says Mr. George. “I am sorry to hear it.”
“Yes, sir.” Grandfather Smallweed rubs his legs. “He is a fine young soldier now, Mr. George, by the name of Carstone. Friends came forward and paid it all up, honourable.”
“Did they?” returns Mr. George. “Do you think your friend in the city would like a piece of advice?”
“I think he would, my dear friend. From you.”