He interfered on the spot--with the air of a man who feels himself imperatively called upon to perform a public duty.
"Dryden never said that," he remarked, "I'll answer for it." Sir Patrick wheeled round with the help of his ivory cane, and looked Mr.Delamayn hard in the face.
"Do you know Dryden, Sir, better than I do ?" he asked.
The Honorable Geoffrey answered, modestly, "I should say I did.

I have rowed three races with him, and we trained together." Sir Patrick looked round him with a sour smile of triumph.
"Then let me tell you, Sir," he said, "that you trained with a man who died nearly two hundred years ago." Mr.Delamayn appealed, in genuine bewilderment, to the company generally: "What does this old gentleman mean ?" he asked.

"I am speaking of Tom Dryden, of Corpus.

Every body in the University knows _him._" "I am speaking," echoed Sir Patrick, "of John Dryden the Poet.
Apparently, every body in the University does _not_ know _him!"_ Mr.Delamayn answered, with a cordial earnestness very pleasant to see: "Give you my word of honor, I never heard of him before in my life! Don't be angry, Sir.

_I'm_ not offended with _you._" He smiled, and took out his brier-wood pipe.