Leave him here at my disposal, in case I want him--and allow me to wish you good morning." Superintendent Seegrave's respect for the Sergeant was great; but his respect for himself was greater still.

Hit hard by the celebrated Cuff, he hit back smartly, to the best of his ability, on leaving the room.
"I have abstained from expressing any opinion, so far," says Mr.
Superintendent, with his military voice still in good working order.

"I have now only one remark to offer on leaving this case in your hands.
There IS such a thing, Sergeant, as making a mountain out of a molehill.
Good morning." "There is also such a thing as making nothing out of a molehill, in consequence of your head being too high to see it." Having returned his brother-officer's compliments in those terms, Sergeant Cuff wheeled about, and walked away to the window by himself.
Mr.Franklin and I waited to see what was coming next.

The Sergeant stood at the window with his hands in his pockets, looking out, and whistling the tune of "The Last Rose of Summer" softly to himself.

Later in the proceedings, I discovered that he only forgot his manners so far as to whistle, when his mind was hard at work, seeing its way inch by inch to its own private ends, on which occasions "The Last Rose of Summer" evidently helped and encouraged him.