"Epigrams and proverbs are generally that."

"I think," said Claudius, "that proverbs are only fallacious when they
are carelessly applied."

"Very likely. Life is too short to waste time over weapons that will
only go off in some singular and old-fashioned way. When I start out to
do any shooting, I want to hit."

So they went to dinner. Claudius found himself becoming gayer in the
society of his new acquaintance than he had been for some time past. He
could not have said whether he liked him or thought him interesting, but
he had a strong impression that there was something somewhere, he could
not tell what, which Mr. Barker understood thoroughly, and in which he
might show to great advantage. He felt that however superficial and
unartistic the American might be, he was nevertheless no fool. There was
something keen and sharp-edged about him that proclaimed a character
capable of influencing men, and accustomed to deal boldly and daringly
with life.

They dined as well as could be expected in a country which is not
gastronomic, and Mr. Barker produced a rare brand of cigars, without
which, he informed his guest, he never travelled. They were fat brown
Havanas, and Claudius enjoyed them.

"Let us go to Baden-Baden," said Barker, sucking at his weed, which
protruded from his immense moustache like a gun under the raised
port-hole of an old-fashioned man-of-war.