I can only tell you, Van, it's one perpetual vapour-bath to me.
There 'll be room for two in my trousers when I get back.

I shall have to get the tailor to take them in a full half.' Here occurred an opening for one of those acrid pleasantries which console us when there is horrid warfare within.
'You must give me the work,' said Evan, partly pleased with his hated self for being able to jest on the subject, as a piece of preliminary self-conquest.
'Aha!' went Andrew, as if the joke were too good to be dwelt on; 'Hem'; and by way of diverting from it cleverly and naturally, he remarked that the weather was fine.

This made Evan allude to his letter written from Lymport, upon which Andrew said: 'tush! pish! humbug! nonsense! won't hear a word.

Don't know anything about it.

Van, you're going to be a brewer.