“I was over there, staying near Cologne on business last week,” returned Mr. Pithey impressively. “So I ought to know. And when you know me better, Mrs. North”—Mr. Fothersley’s shudder was almost audible—“you’ll know I don’t talk without my book. I got nails over there—metal, mind you—cheaper than you can get ’em here. P’rhaps you won’t credit that!”
He helped himself to more cake, and started afresh.
“Now look at the farming round about here. Rotten, that’s what it is, rotten! Never went in for it myself before, but I know when a concern’s run as it should be or not. There’s only one farm in this district that’s real tip-top, and that’s Thorpe. It’s a little bit of a place, but it’s well run. Run by a woman too! But she’s a fool. If you’ll believe me, I offered her a twenty-five per cent. profit on whatever the price she gave for that little place, and she wouldn’t take it. Just have suited me to play with. And there’s one or two things there I’d like up at the Court. By the way, any gentleman or lady here got some of those old lead water tanks they’d like a fancy price for, because I’m a buyer.”
By this time the assembly under the beech-tree was more or less paralysed, and Mrs. North was wondering what madness had possessed her to be the first to ask Mr. Pithey to meet Lady Condor. But Lady Condor continued to beam; not only to beam, but every now and then to break into a chuckle. And yet this was not at all the sort of thing one would have expected to amuse her.
“Old lead water tanks!” she repeated, thoughtfully. “Dear Arthur, would you mind putting Jock on my lap? Thank you so much. And now Jinny! There, darlings! Don’t be nervous, Mr. Pithey. They never really bite unless you come too close. Let me see, where were we? Oh—yes—tanks! No, I am afraid I have none for sale just now.”
“You see,” said Mr. Pithey confidentially, “if I get the stuff off some of you old inhabitants I know it’s the right sort, and I don’t mind what I pay.”
“If you go on talking much longer, Bertie, you’ll be late for seeing the man who’s coming about the butler’s place,” said Mrs. Pithey, suddenly, from her chair. She had just finished her tea, and swept many crumbs from her lap as she spoke.
“Quite right, my dear! Quite right!” Mr. Pithey rose as he spoke. “I’m never late for an appointment, Mrs. North. Matter of conscience with me, never mind who it’s with, butler or duke.” It was characteristic of Mr. Pithey that he put the butler first. “Well, good-by to you all.” Mr. Pithey shook hands largely all round, followed by Mrs. Pithey. “Pleased to have met your Ladyship. Sorry not to have seen your good husband, Mrs. North. The man in this place, I reckon. That margarine business of his is one of the best managed in Leicester, and we don’t let flies walk on us there, anyhow. He goes in for a bit of science and writing as well, doesn’t he? Good all round man, eh?”
And, conscious of having been generally pleasant, Mr. Pithey removed his large pale presence to where his Rolls-Royce car awaited him in the front drive.
“I know you will forgive me, dear lady,” said Mr. Fothersley, his voice trembling with emotion, “if I do not see them off.”