“The cir-cu-la-tion!” repeats Mr. George, folding his arms upon his chest and seeming to become two sizes larger. “Not much of that, I should think.”

“Truly I’m old, Mr. George,” says Grandfather Smallweed. “But I can carry my years. I’m older than her ,” nodding at his wife, “and see what she is? You’re a brimstone chatterer!” with a sudden revival of his late hostility.