of irritation at hearing once again in full detail the plans for Algernon's life spun out in their regular order, as though they were matter for novel advice.
Mr. Brassington was at it again—the old, familiar story! How, properly speaking, the Queen should have knighted him when she came to Ormeston during his mayoralty; how, anyhow, King Edward might have given him a baronetcy, considering all he had done during the war. How he didn't want it for himself, but he thought it would steady his son. How he would have nothing to do with paying for such things; how he had heard that the usual price was £25,000; how that was robbing his son! Robbing his son, sir! Robbing his son of a thousand pounds a year, sir! How Mr. Brassington would have that baronetcy given him for the sake of his son, of hearty goodwill, or not at all.
Mr. Kirby listened, more and more bored.
"I 've told you, Brassington, twenty times! They came to me about it and you lost your temper. They came to me about it again the other day, and it 's yours for the asking, only hang it all! you must do something public again, they must have a peg to hang it on."
Whereat Mr. Kirby's closest and oldest
