"All I meant was--anything Voucher and I can do--of course--" "You're very good.

I'm not dead you know." "'Not dead, you know'," repeated Major Belwether coming up behind them with his sprightly step; "that reminds me of a good one--" He sat down and lighted a cigar, then, vainly attempting to control his countenance as though roguishly anticipating the treat awaiting them, he began another endless story.
Tradition had hallowed the popular notion that Major Belwether was a wit.

The sycophant of the outer world seldom even awaited his first word before bursting into premature mirth.

Besides he was very wealthy.
Siward watched him with mixed emotions; the lambent-eyed, sheepy expression had given place to the buck rabbit; his smooth baby-pink skin and downy white side whiskers quivered in premature sympathy with his listener's overwhelming hilarity.
The Page boys, very callow, very much delighted, and a little in awe of such a celebrated personage, laughed heartily.

And altogether there was sufficient attention and sufficient laughter to make a very respectable noise.