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Like most miners, he was pale, but healthy and taut. "Evenin', missis," he nodded to Mrs. Morel, and he seated himself with a sigh. "Good-evening," she replied cordially. "Tha's made thy heels crack," said Morel. "I dunno as I have," said Barker. He sat, as the men always did in Morel's kitchen, effacing himself rather. "How's missis?" she asked of him.
So away went Bagshaw to the Lake of Lausanne Lodge for the lotion, which, as it always happens when folks are in a hurry, it took him a quarter of an hour to find. They were now fairly on the road. "What a smell of garlic!" exclaimed Uncle John; "it is intolerable!" "Dear me!" said Mr. Richards, "do you perceive it? 'Tis a fine Italian sausage I bought at Morel's, as my contribution.
He sat in Morel's armchair awkwardly. It was too great a familiarity. But the fire made him blissfully happy. "And how's that chest of yours?" demanded Mrs. Morel. He smiled again, with his blue eyes rather sunny. "Oh, it's very middlin'," he said. "Wi' a rattle in it like a kettle-drum," said Barker shortly. "T-t-t-t!" went Mrs. Morel rapidly with her tongue.
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