He then leant back in his chair in an attitude of placid enjoyment. His friend filled his pipe and began smoking also.
For some little time neither of them spoke. Jamblin’s eyes, though half closed, were directed towards Ashbrook. The two human funnels were absorbed in a fragrant weed.
“I feel somehow, John, that I be gettin’ an old man, and may be I shan’t be able to look after Stoke Ferry for many more years. It’s of no use denying the fact or attempting to conceal it. I ain’t what I was, an’ ever since my poor boy’s death I aint had the heart as I used to ha’.”
“You must not talk like that, Mr. Jamblin; you are not so young as you were, it is true, but you are hale and hearty as yet.”
“As yet—that be a good term; but I ain’t got the pluck as I ought to ha’, an’ I’ve been thinking, lad—well I’ve been thinkin’ of a lot of things. Now there’s Patty, you know——”
“Yes, and as good a girl as ever stepped.”
“That be right enough—I am glad to hear thee say so. Well, although I be old I ha’ got eyes in my head and know how many blue beans mek five—an’ I can see pretty plainly, John Ashbrook, that you are sweet on the gell, and it may be that she’s a bit partial to you. This is only as I guess,” he added, pointing over his shoulder with the end of his pipe.
“Be I right or be I wrong?” he said, sharply.
“Why of course you are quite right. I am glad you have broached the subject, which, to say the truth, I was about to enter upon myself. Mr. Jamblin, I need hardly tell you how dearly I love your daughter, I have done so for years past, but——”
“But what? Don’t ’ee begin loike that, John. The only butt there is in the question is one filled with the best stingo, which is to be broached when the health of the bride has to be drunk.”