"This is my young friend Blyth Scudamore, the son of one of my oldest friends.

You have heard of Sir Edmond Scudamore ?" "And seen him and felt him.

And to him I owe, under a merciful Providence, the power of drinking in this fine port the health of his son, which I do with deep pleasure, for the excellence both of end and means." The old man bowed at the praise of his wine, and the young one at that of his father.

Then, after the usual pinch of snuff from the Rector's long gold box, the host returned to the subject he had been full of before this interruption.
"The question we have in hand is this.

What is to be done with our friend Blyth?
He was getting on famously, till this vile peace came.
Twemlow, you called it that yourself, so that argument about words is useless.