pipes was less rampant than usual.

It was, I think, early in the new year that I met Lawrence Vaughan
in Bath. He was not staying at Gay Street, so I could still have
the vacant room next to Derrick's. Lawrence put up at the York
House Hotel.

"For you know," he informed me, "I really can't stand the governor
for more than an hour or two at a time."

"Derrick manages to do it," I said.

"Oh, Derrick, yes," he replied, "it's his metier, and he is well
accustomed to the life. Besides, you know, he is such a dreamy,
quiet sort of fellow; he lives all the time in a world of his own
creation, and bears the discomforts of this world with great
philosophy. Actually he has turned teetotaller! It would kill me
in a week."

I make a point of never arguing with a fellow like that, but I think
I had a vindictive longing, as I looked at him, to shut him up with
the Major for a month, and see what would happen.

These twin brothers were curiously alike in face and curiously
unlike in nature. So much for the great science of physiognomy! It
often seemed to me that they were the complement of each other. For
instance, Derrick in society was extremely silent, Lawrence was a
rattling talker; Derrick, when alone with you, would now and then
reveal unsuspected depths of thought and expression; Lawrence, when
alone with you, very frequently showed himself to be a cad. The