The farmer’s face changed. He gave a long low whistle.
“Did he send you to ask me that?” he said.
“No indeed,” replied Dennis indignantly; “I thought of it my very own self. He’s promised not to have any more bouts, if you’ll keep him on.”
Mr Solace got up and stood with his elbow on the mantelpiece, looking down at Dennis.
“Well, my boy,” he said, “that’s a thing I must say ‘No’ to. I’m forced to, by Tuvvy himself. I don’t want to send him away. I shan’t get another such a clever chap in his place.”
“Then why do you?” asked Dennis.
“Because I can’t put up with him any longer; I’ve been too soft-hearted already. I’ve winked at his goings-on again and again, and I’ve let him off times out of number. But now my mind’s made up.”
“But he’s promised,” urged Dennis, “and he’s going to walk home the field-way, so as not to pass the Cross Keys. He says it’s the red blind that draws him in.”
“H’m,” said the farmer, with a short laugh. “He don’t want much drawing, I fancy. And as for his promises—I’ve had enough of Tuvvy’s promises.”
Dennis looked crestfallen. He had not expected this.