He had said the word: and the first vanity of your born eccentric is, that he shall be taken for infallible.
Presently Andrew ducked his head to mark the evening clouds flushing over the court-yard of the Aurora.
'Time to be off, Tom,' he said: 'wife at home.' 'Ah!' Tom answered.

'Well, I haven't got to go to bed so early.' 'What an old rogue you are, Tom!' Andrew pushed his elbows forward on the table amiably.

'Gad, we haven't drunk wine together since--by George! we'll have another pint.' 'Many as you like,' said Tom.
Over the succeeding pint, Andrew, in whose veins the Port was merry, favoured his brother with an imitation of Major Strike, and indicated his dislike to that officer.

Tom informed him that Major Strike was speculating.
'The ass eats at my table, and treats me with contempt.' 'Just tell him that you're putting by the bones for him.

He 'll want 'em.' Then Andrew with another glance at the clouds, now violet on a grey sky, said he must really be off.