The man made a non-committal gesture. “It’s not for me to say what you know, your worship. But you do know.”
Jim made an impatient movement. “Look here now, if I let you go this time will you promise not to do it again?”
Smiley-face shook his head, and again touched his forelock. “Oh, I couldn’t do that, sir. It’s tremenjus sport; and old Jenny she do cook rabbit fine, sir; and eat un, too. Don’t be angry, your highness,” he added quickly, as Jim turned threateningly upon him.
“Don’t keep calling me ‘your highness’ and ‘my lord.’ I’m a plain man, the same as you.”
“So you be, sir,” the other smiled. “You’ve walked the roads; you’ve lain out o’ nights. You know. And now you’re a-askin’ o’ I not to poach! Oh, you can’t do that, sir....”
“Well, supposing I give you permission to poach every now and then?” Jim suggested.
“What?—and tell Mr. Pegett not to shoot I dead? Oh, no; there wouldn’t be no sport in that.”
Jim held out his hand. “Look here, Smiley-face,” he said. “You seem to be pulling my leg, but I rather like you. Let’s be friends.”
The man drew back. “Well, I don’t ’xactly ’old with friends, sir. Friends laughs at friends.”
Nevertheless, he grasped the proffered hand.