“That he most certainly did.”
“He’s a hog—a swine—a low-bred, vulgar fellow.”
“Very low-bred.”
“Oh, so I should imagine. But we’ll find some means of serving him out. Wife’s a pretty little woman, I suppose?”
“Oh, dear me, yes.”
“And a great deal too good for such a pig?”
“Much too good. But we will not discuss that question now. I am in need of a confidential friend like yourself.”
“Certainly, old boy. I am at your service.”
“I have left my portmanteau and things at the farmer’s, also my horse. I want you to run down to Broxbridge and demand them.”
“Good. That I’ll do without a moment’s hesitation. You must give me a note, of course?”