"No, no!" Semple urged. "I wouldn't touch it.
It's no fit drink for the daytime--and it's a scandal
in an office. Your clerks will aye blab it about hither
and yon, and nothing harms a man's reputation more in the City."
"Oh, to hell with the City!" cried Thorpe, joyously.
"I'm never going to set foot in it again. Think of that!
I mean it!"
None the less, he abandoned the idea of sending out for wine,
and contented himself with the resources of the cabinet instead.
After some friendly pressure, Semple consented to join
him in a brandy-and-soda, though he continued to protest
between sips that at such an hour it was an indecent practice.
"It's the ruin of many a strong man," he moralized,
looking rather pointedly at Thorpe over his glass. "It's the
principal danger that besets the verra successful man.
He's too busily occupied to take exercise, and he's
too anxious and worried to get his proper sleep--but he
can always drink! In one sense, I'm not sorry to think
that you're leaving the City."
"Oh, it never hurts me," Thorpe said, indifferently accepting
the direction of the homily. "I'm as strong as an ox.
But all the same, I shall be better in every way for
getting out of this hole. Thank God, I can get off
to Scotland tomorrow. But I say, Semple, what's the
matter with your visiting me at my place there? I'll
give you the greatest shooting and fishing you ever heard of.
Pages:
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402