“I demur to the system altogether,” said Linton. “Physicians tell us that the intellectual development is always made at the expense of the physical, and as one of the duties of a British army is to suffer yellow fever in the West Indies and cholera in the East, I vote for leaving them strong in constitution and intact in strength as vacant heads and thoughtless skulls can make them.” “Oh dear me! yes,” sighed Meek, who, by one of his mock concurrences, effectually blinded the less astute portion of the audience from seeing Linton's impertinence. “What has been doing here in my absence?” said Linton; “have you no event worth recording for me?” “There is a story,” said Upton, “that Cashel and Kennyfeck have quarrelled,--a serious rupture, they say, and not to be repaired.” “How did it originate? Something about the management of the property?” “No, no,--it was a row among the women. They laid some scheme for making Cashel propose for one of the girls.” “Not Olivia, I hope?” said Upton, as he lighted a new cigar. “I rather suspect it was,” interposed another. “In any case, Linton,” cried Jennings, “you are to be the gainer, for the rumor says, Cashel will give you the agency, with his house to live in, and a very jolly thing to spend, while he goes abroad to travel.” “If this news be true, Tom,” said Frobisher, “I 'll quarter my yearlings on you; there is a capital run for young horses in those flats along the river.” “The house is cold at this season,” said Meek, with a sad smile; “but I think it would be very endurable in the autumn months. I should n't say but you may see us here again at that time.” “I hope 'ours' may be quartered at Limerick,” said an infantryman, with a most suggestive look at the comforts of the apartment, which were a pleasing contrast to barrack-room accommodation. “Make yourselves perfectly at home here, gentlemen, when that good time comes,” said Linton, with one of his careless laughs. “I tell you frankly, that if Cashel does make me such a proposal--a step which, from his knowledge of my indolent, lazy habits, is far from likely--I only accept on one condition.” “What is that?” cried a dozen voices. “That you will come and pass your next Christmas here.” “Agreed--agreed!” was chorused on every side. “I suspect from that bit of spontaneous hospitality,” whispered Frobisher to Meek, “that the event is something below doubtful.” Meek nodded. “What is Charley saying?” cried Linton, whose quick eye caught the glance interchanged between the two. “I was telling Meek,” said Frobisher, “that I don't put faith enough in the condition to accept the invitation.” “Indeed!” said Linton, while he turned to the table and filled his glass, to hide a passing sign of mortification. “Tom Linton for a man's agent, seems pretty like what old Frederick used to call keeping a goat for a gardener.”