"How do you like Jim Jackson?" I asked suddenly.
"Cheeky devil!"
"He's clever," I said.
"You may call it cleverness, but I have another name for it. He is a
fellow that requires to be sat on."
"And you'll sit on him?"
"I certainly shall ... heavily too."
I tried to show Macdonald that he was making a criminal blunder, but he
got impatient. "I can't stand cheek," he kept saying, and I had to give
up all hope of convincing him that I was right. Macdonald is essentially
a stupid man. I don't say that merely because he disagrees with me; I
say it because he refuses to think out his own attitude. He cries that
Jim is cheeky, but he won't go into the other question as to whether
humour is impudence. Had he argued that humour is a drawback in life I
should have pitied his taste, but I should have admired his ability to
make out a good case.