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"Oi thart oi yerd a Frenchie in the bar'l," said Blob in the slow and undulating voice of Sussex. "Oi went fur to fetch un out, when a tarrabul great oarse-fly settled on ma butt-end and stung her." "It was no horse-fly," replied the Parson. "It was my dear lady. Now, don't bother to think of any more lies, my lad, but just take that lantern from the wall, and go below.
Parson and Gentleman were about to clash. Then a little figure rose out of the earth, and sullen thunder smote on the silence. Piper drew a deep breath. "I thart so," he said, comfortably. "Who is it?" asked Kit. "Jack Knapp, sir," said the old man, picking his teeth. "Sneaked a drum from a travellin showman by the look on it, and tow-rowin like a rigiment. See him thump it. Ho! ho!
Tom Gaunt rustled the greenish paper he was reading, and his little, hard gray eyes fixed his father. "Who said I was going?" Old Gaunt, smoothing and smoothing the lined, thin cheeks of the parchmenty, thin-nosed face that Frances Freeland had thought to be almost like a gentleman's, answered: "I thart you said you was goin'." "You think too much, then that's what 'tis.
'Twould 'a' meant half a day's wages garn if I'd com', and theer, my dear, 'ud been reason for another delay in oor getting spliced." "You're fine and vulgar, upon my word! A little free, too, and a little mistook. I've no mind ter get spliced, as yer carls it, wi' a chap as cannot see's way ter keep tryst." "Yer doan't mean thart?" "Doan't I? Yer'll answer fer me in everything, 't seems.
"Well, I telled 'ee zo," said the road-mender. "He's brart down the nextest heir, var tu keep a hold over Master Peter, and I doan't blame 'un." "James Coachman telled me vive minutes zince as zummat were up. 'Ee zad such arders var tu-morrer morning, 'ee says, as niver 'ee had befar," said the landlord. "Thart James Coachman weren't niver lit tu come here," said the road-mender, slyly.
And for the life of him he could not think of any mortal words which might bridge the unreal gulf between them. At last he said: "You a native here?" "No, sir. From over Malvern way. Livin' here with my darter, owin' to my leg. Her 'usband works in this here factory." "And I'm from London," Felix said. "Thart you were. Fine place, London, they say!" Felix shook his head.
"It will be fully a year, I fear. They must gather the expeditions together, and re-equip the ships. It will be a long time before all will have come in." "Could they not send fast ships after them to recall them?" "Could they have traced us as we wove our way from Thart to Karst to Raloork to Phahlo? It would be impossible." Steadily the great ship had been boring on her way.
And next morning the men, with Gaunt and a big, dark fellow, called Tulley, for spokesmen, again proffered their demand. The agent took counsel with Malloring by wire. His answer, "Concede nothing," was communicated to the men in the afternoon, and received by Gaunt with the remark: "I thart we should be hearin' that. Please to thank Sir Gerald. The men concedes their gratitood...."
"I thart I yeard a chap a-walkin," trembled the scarecrow. He let the dead man's hand flop into the water. "Plenty o chaps not much walkin," chirped a voice of one unseen. A treble laugh greeted the sally. Round the Head a boat came paddling. In it was a man fat as a sow, and not unlike one. Honey-coloured ringlets hung down to his neck.
'Yu bain't been lukin' round zo careful as 'ee shude; there be a bit o' magnolia as want nailding oop, my gude man. 'Oh, be there, mum? zays I. 'Yiss, there be; an' thart I'd carl yure attention tu it, zess she, are zum zuch. 'Thanky, mum, I'm zure, zezz I." "I knows how her goes on," groaned James Coachman. "Mother toime 'tis zummat else," said the aggrieved gardener.
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