always, I believe, a kindness for Geoffrey Waverton, and bore no ill will
for his parade of supremacy. Tyranny in small things, indeed, Mr.
Waverton did not affect. He had a desire to be magnificent. Those who did
not cross him, those who were content to be his inferiors, found him
amiable enough and, on occasion, generous....

"Shall we try another line, Mr. Waverton?" said Harry wearily.

"I have a mind to make an epigram," Mr. Waverton announced. "The
arrogance of the vulgar, the--the uninstructed--perhaps I lack the _mot
juste_, but _quand meme_--the mansuetude of the loftier mind. A fine
antithesis that, I think." He stood up, walked to the window, and looked
out. Away down the hill the fields lay in a mellow mist, the kindly
autumn sun made the copses glow golden; it was a benign scene, apt to
encourage wit. Mr. Waverton lisped in numbers, but the numbers did not
come. He turned to seek stimulus from Harry. "You relish the thought?"

"It is a perfect subject for your style," said Harry.

Mr. Waverton smiled, and turned again to the window for productive
meditation.

A third man came lounging in, unheard by Mr. Waverton's rapt mind. He
opened his eyes at the back which Mr. Waverton turned upon Harry and the
space between them. "Why, Geoffrey, have you been very stupid this
morning? And has schoolmaster stood you in the corner? Well done, Mr.
Boyce. I always told you, spare the rod and spoil the child. Shall I go
cut a birch for you?"

"I wonder you are not tired of that old jest, Charles," said Waverton