“Men!” said Timothy; “you don’t want men⁠—wastin’ the country’s money. You want a Napoleon, he’d settle it in a month.”

“But if you haven’t got him, Uncle Timothy?”

“That’s their business,” replied Timothy. “What have we kept the Army up for⁠—to eat their heads off in time of peace! They ought to be ashamed of themselves, comin’ on the country to help them like this! Let every man stick to his business, and we shall get on.”

And looking round him, he added almost angrily:

“Volunteerin’, indeed! Throwin’ good money after bad! We must save! Conserve energy that’s the only way.” And with a prolonged sound, not quite a sniff and not quite a snort, he trod on Euphemia’s toe, and went out, leaving a sensation and a faint scent of barley-sugar behind him.