Mr.Nicholas Dabbs, the brother of Daniel, was not a man to lose anything by failure to acknowledge social distinctions.

A short time ago Daniel had expostulated with his brother on the use of 'sir' to Mutimer, eliciting the profound reply, 'D'you think he'd have 'ad that glass of whisky if I'd called him Dick ?' 'Dan home yet ?' Mutimer inquired.
'Not been in five minutes.

Come round, sir, will you?
I know he wants to see you.' A portion of the counter was raised, and Richard passed into a parlour behind the bar.
'I'll call him,' said the landlord.
Daniel appeared immediately.
'I want a bit of private talk,' he said to his brother.

'We'll have this door shut, if you don't mind.' 'You may as well bring us a drop of something first, Nick,' put in Richard.

'Give the order, Dan.' 'Wouldn't have 'ad it but for the "sir,"' chuckled Nicholas to himself.
'Never used to when he come here, unless I stood it.' Daniel drew a chair to the table and stirred his tumbler thoughtfully, his nose over the steam.
'We're going to have trouble with 'Arry,' said Richard, who had seated himself on a sofa in a dispirited way.