But he chose at present to
make light of it, almost as if he were chaffing above his knowledge of
some calamity.
"Some book Johnny says a chap is either a fool or a physician at
forty," he remarked, drawing the blanket more closely about him.
"I should hardly rank you as a Harley Street consultant, sir," I
swiftly retorted, which was slanging him enormously because he had
turned forty. I mean to say, there was but one thing he could take me
as meaning him to be, since at forty I considered him no physician.
But at least I had not been too blunt, the touch about the Harley
Street consultant being rather neat, I thought, yet not too subtle for
him.
He now demanded a pipe of tobacco, and for a time smoked in silence. I
could see that his mind worked painfully.
"Stiffish lot, those Americans," he said at last.
"They do so many things one doesn't do," I answered.
"And their brogue is not what one could call top-hole, is it now? How
often they say 'I guess!' I fancy they must say it a score of times in
a half-hour."
"I fancy they do, sir," I agreed.
"I fancy that Johnny with the eyebrows will say it even oftener."
"I fancy so, sir. I fancy I've counted it well up to that."
"I fancy you're quite right. And the chap 'guesses' when he awfully
well knows, too.
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