The Adventures of Harry Richmond. Volume 6. George Meredith

      My father stood up and bowed, bareheaded.

      My grandfather struck his hat and bobbed.

      'Mr. Beltham, I trust I see you well.'

      'Better, sir, when I've got rid of a damned unpleasant bit o' business.'

      'I offer you my hearty assistance.'

      'Do you? Then step down and come into my bailiff's.'

      'I come, sir.'

      My father alighted from the carriage. The squire cast his gouty leg to be quit of his horse, but not in time to check my father's advances and ejaculations of condolence.

      'Gout, Mr. Beltham, is a little too much a proof to us of a long line of ancestry.'

      His hand and arm were raised in the form of a splint to support the squire, who glared back over his cheekbone, horrified that he could not escape the contact, and in too great pain from arthritic throes to protest: he resembled a burglar surprised by justice. 'What infernal nonsense . . , fellow talking now?' I heard him mutter between his hoppings and dancings, with one foot in the stirrup and a toe to earth, the enemy at his heel, and his inclination half bent upon swinging to the saddle again.