A daily drive was part of Mrs.Lane's ritual.
"By the way, you fellows," Eugene resumed, throwing himself on the grass, "I may as well mention that Stafford doesn't drink, or eat meat, or smoke, or play cards, or anything else." "What a peculiar beggar!" said Bob.
"Yes, and he's peculiar in another way," said Eugene, a little dryly; "he particularly objects to any remark being made on his habits--I mean on what he eats and drinks and so on." "There I agree," said Bob; "I object to any remarks on what I eat and drink"; and he look a long pull at the beer.
"You must treat him with respect, young man.

Haddington, I know, will study him as a phenomenon.

I can't protect him against that." Mr.Haddington smiled and remarked that such revivals of mediaevalism were interesting, if morbid; and having so delivered himself, he too went his way.
"That chap's considered very clever, isn't he ?" asked Bob of his host, indicating Haddington's retreating figure.
"Very, I believe," said Eugene.

"He's a cuckoo, you see." "Dashed if I do," said Bob.
"He steals other birds' nests--eggs and all." "Your natural history is a trifle mixed, old fellow; kindly explain." "Well, he's a thief of ideas.

Never was the father of one himself, and gets his living by kidnapping." "I never knew such a chap!" ejaculated Bob helplessly.