Drummond, gravely smiling, undertook to
elucidate the case) 'has a theory that the constitutions of the
Postdiluvians have been deranged, and their lives shortened, by the
miasmas of the Deluge. I believe he carries it so far as to say that
Noah, in the light of a progenitor, is inferior to Adam, owing to the
shaking he had to endure in the ark, and which he conceives to have
damaged the patriarch and the nervous systems of his sons. It's a
theory, you know.'

'They lived close on a thousand years, hale, hearty--and no water!' said
the chairman.

'Well!' exclaimed one, some way down the table, a young farmer, red as
a cock's comb: 'no fools they, eh, master? Where there's ale, would you
drink water, my hearty?' and back he leaned to enjoy the tribute to his
wit; a wit not remarkable, but nevertheless sufficient in the noise it
created to excite the envy of Mr. Raikes, who, inveterately silly when
not engaged in a contest, now began to play on the names of the sons of
Noah.

The chairman lanced a keen light at him from beneath his bushy eyebrows.

Before long he had again to call two parties to order. To Raikes,
Laxley was a puppy: to Laxley, Mr. Raikes was a snob. The antagonism was
natural: ale did but put the match to the magazine. But previous to an
explosion, Laxley, who had observed Evan's disgust at Jack's exhibition
of himself, and had been led to think, by his conduct and clothes in
conjunction, that Evan was his own equal; a gentleman condescending
to the society of a low-born acquaintance;--had sought with sundry
propitiations, intelligent glances, light shrugs, and such like,
to divide Evan from Jack. He did this, doubtless, because he partly
sympathized with Evan, and to assure him that he took a separate view
of him. Probably Evan was already offended, or he held to Jack, as
a comrade should, or else it was that Tailordom and the pride of his
accepted humiliation bellowed in his ears, every fresh minute: 'Nothing
assume!' I incline to think that the more ale he drank the fiercer rebel
he grew against conventional ideas of rank, and those class-barriers
which we scorn so vehemently when we find ourselves kicking at them.
Whatsoever the reason that prompted him, he did not respond to Laxley's
advances; and Laxley, disregarding him, dealt with Raikes alone.

In a tone plainly directed at him, he said: 'Well, Harry, tired of this?
The agriculturals are good fun, but I can't stand much of the small
cockney