"Indeed! Hah! yes. Old days, Bayle. Yes, old days, indeed. The thought of them makes me feel how time has gone. Look young, eh? Bah! I'm an old fool, Bayle. Deal better if I had been born poor. You should see me when Tom Porter takes me to pieces, and puts me to bed of a night. Why, Bayle, I don't mind telling you. Always were a good lad, and I liked you. I'm one of the most frightful impositions of my time. Wig, sir; confound it! sham teeth, sir, and they are horribly uncomfortable. Whiskers dyed, sir. The rest all tailor's work. Feel ashamed of myself sometimes. At others I say to myself that it's showing a bold front to the enemy. No, sir, not a bit of truth in me anywhere." "Except your heart," said Bayle, smiling. "Tchut! man, hold your tongue. Now about yourself. Why don't you get a comfortable rectory somewhere, instead of plodding on in this hole?" "Because I am more useful here." "Nonsense! Get a good West-end lectureship." "I prefer the North here." "My dear Christie Bayle, you are throwing yourself away. There, I can't keep it back. Old Doctor Thomson is dead, and if you will come I have sufficient interest with the bishop, providing I bring forward a good man, to get him the living at King's Castor." Christie Bayle shook his head sadly. "No, Sir Gordon," he said, with a curious, wistful look coming into his eyes. "That would be too painful--too full of sad memories." "Pooh! nonsense, man! You can't be a curate all your life." "Why not? I do not want the payment of a better post in the Church." "Of course not; but come, say `Yes.' As to memories, fudge! man, you have your memories everywhere. If you were out in Australia you'd have them, same as I dare say a friend of ours has. Let the past go." Bayle shook his head. "I'm thinking of settling down yonder myself. Getting too old for sea-trips. If you'd come down, that would decide me." "No, no. It would never do. I could not leave town." "Ah, so you pretend, sir. I'll be bound that, if you had a good motive, you'd be off anywhere, in spite of what you say." "Perhaps. Your motive is not strong enough." "What, not your own interest, man?" "My dear Sir Gordon, no. What interest have I in myself? Why, I have been blessed by Providence with a good income and few wants, and for the past eighteen years I've been so busy thinking about other people, that I should feel guilty of a crime if I began to be selfish now." "You're a queer fellow, Bayle, but you may alter your mind. I've made up mine that you shall have the old living at King's Castor. I shan't marry now, so I don't want you for that; but, please God I don't go down in some squall, I should like you to say `Ashes to ashes, dust to dust' over the remains of a very selfish old man, for I sometimes think that it can't be long first now."