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On the whole, he thought he was in some danger unless he could satisfy the fellow. Shanks did not mean to let him seize the heavy stick. "I've not much ground for standing by Mr. Dearham and it's not my business to protect his game," he said. "If I thowt you'd send keeper after me " "Put down your stick," said Mordaunt, with haughty impatience. "If I wanted to send the keeper, I'd certainly do so.
But how many pheasants did you get?" "Nobbut two. T' birds is varra scarce." "Then I don't see why you ran the risk of stealing Langrigg pheasants when there are plenty in Red Bank woods." Shanks was silent for a moment or two, and then replied, as if Mordaunt's carelessness had banished his doubts: "Mr. Dearham put us oot o' dabbin and blew 't up."
People pretend to scoff at such things, but they count." "Much would depend on the owner. If he broke the family traditions, defied our conventions, and made himself a joke " "Much would be forgiven him because he is a Dearham," Mrs. Halliday rejoined. "Still, of course, there is a limit and I see a risk.
Some of the tenants who had known his grandfather talked about Jim afterwards and agreed that he had not much in common with the country gentleman; he was like Bernard Dearham, who opened the famous iron mines. When they returned in the afternoon across the small turnip and stubble fields, Jim said to Jake, "I've seen enough of the plow land. Let's go across the marsh."
"There's something of Langrigg about it; something you don't feel at Whitelees. The stone is curious." "I believe it was brought from a distance, but, in a sense, Bernard Dearham built Dryholm of iron." "Somehow it looks like that," Carrie remarked. The car stopped in front of a plain arch and Bernard received the party in the hall, where they found Mrs.
He glanced at the place Carrie indicated, started, and then looked straight in front. "How did you get the thing?" he asked after a moment or two. "Mother bought some old paper for packing. She took this piece just now to light the stove and saw the notice. But are you the man they want?" "Yes," said Jim, quietly. "Franklin Dearham was my father."
"Certainly," said Baumstein, and when Jim, picking up the instrument on the desk, called the exchange, suddenly straightened himself. He knew the number for which Jim asked. "Winter and Dearham," said the latter. "Mr. Lamson? All right; I'll come along and fix things. We'll record the transfer when you like." Baumstein swung round his chair and his face got red. "What's that you told Lamson?
"Was Joseph Dearham rich?" Jake asked. "He had some land and money and the old house at Langrigg. I've often thought about Langrigg, but I'd sooner the lawyers had left me alone." "Why?" "I've been happy in Canada. I've friends I trust, I'm making good, and don't want to be disturbed."
The car lurched on the grass by the roadside as it took a corner and Mordaunt, roused by the jolt, concentrated on his driving. When he reached Dryholm he crossed the lawn and stopped by a wheeled chair, in which Bernard Dearham sat with his foot propped up. The old man was tall and strongly made, but had got thin, and his pinched face was marked by deep lines.
Joseph Dearham and others had made some renovations in the hall, but they harmonized with the crooked roof-beams and dark oak. There were one or two tall lamps and another that hung by iron chains, but Jim generally used candles in old silver stands. Evelyn wondered how Jim knew that candles were right. It was strange that he often, unconsciously, she thought, struck the proper note.
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