He loads his gun up to the muzzle, and waits, as the years roll on, with his linstock in his hand, and one fine day _at breakfast_ he fires his treble charge of grape-shot at his own father." This was delivered so loudly that John feared a quarrel, and to interrupt it, put in his head, and said, mighty innocently: "Did you call, sir?
Can I do anything for you, sir ?" "Yes: go to the devil!" John went, but not down-stairs, as suggested--a mere lateral movement that ended at the keyhole.
"Well, but, sir," said Walter, half-reproachfully, "it was you elicited my views." "Confound your views, sir, and--your impudence! You're in the right, and I am in the wrong" (this admission with a more ill-used tone than ever).

"It's the race-horses.

Ring the bell.

What sawneys you young fellows are! it used not to take six minutes to ring a bell when I was your age." Walter, thus stimulated, sprang to the bell-rope, and pulled it all down to the ground with a single gesture.
The Colonel burst out laughing, and that did him good; and Mr.Baker answered the bell like lightning; he quite forgot that the bell must have rung fifty yards from the spot where he was enjoying the dialogue.
"Send me the steward, John; I saw him pass the window." Meantime the Colonel marched up and down with considerable agitation.
Walter, who had a filial heart, felt very uneasy, and said, timidly, "I am truly sorry, father, that I answered your questions so bluntly." "I'm not, then," said the Colonel.

"I hold him to be less than a man who flies from the truth, whether it comes from young lips or old.