»Whether it's right to say superior young men,« said Mrs. Vincy, ringing the
bell.
    »Oh, there are so many superior teas and sugars now. Superior is getting to
be shopkeepers' slang.«
    »Are you beginning to dislike slang, then?« said Rosamond, with mild
gravity.
    »Only the wrong sort. All choice of words is slang. It marks a class.«
    »There is correct English: that is not slang.«
    »I beg your pardon: correct English is the slang of prigs who write history
and essays. And the strongest slang of all is the slang of poets.«
    »You will say anything, Fred, to gain your point.«
    »Well, tell me whether it is slang or poetry to call an ox a leg-plaiter.«
    »Of course you can call it poetry if you like.«
    »Aha, Miss Rosy, you don't know Homer from slang. I shall invent a new game;
I shall write bits of slang and poetry on slips, and give them to you to
separate.«
    »Dear me, how amusing it is to hear young people talk!« said Mrs. Vincy,
with cheerful admiration.
    »Have you got nothing else for my breakfast, Pritchard?« said Fred, to the
servant who brought in coffee and buttered toast; while he walked round the
table surveying the ham, potted beef, and other cold remnants, with an air of
silent rejection, and polite forbearance from signs of disgust.
    »Should you like eggs, sir?«
    »Eggs, no! Bring me a grilled bone.«
    »Really, Fred,« said Rosamond, when the servant had left the room, »if you
must have hot things for breakfast, I wish you would come down earlier. You can
get up at six o'clock to go out hunting; I cannot understand why you find it so
difficult to get up on other mornings.«
    »That is your want of understanding, Rosy. I can get up to go hunting
because I like it.«
    »What would you think of me if I came down two hours after every one else
and ordered grilled bone?«
    »I should think you were an uncommonly fast young lady,« said Fred, eating
his toast with the utmost composure.
    »I cannot see why brothers are to make themselves disagreeable, any more
than sisters.«
    »I don't make myself disagreeable; it is you who find me so. Disagreeable is
a word that describes your feelings