“Did you ask his name—his business?”
“No, sir.”
“Go and do so, blockhead!”—He lost his patience for a moment; then, recollecting himself, “Tell him to walk in here,” he added more mildly.
In response to this amiable permission, an individual, whose wooden face wore the perpetual smile of an “Aunt Sally,” and whose clothes smelt of stables and were mere patched horse-cloths in appearance, advanced to the threshold of the hall, where he stood, after touching his forelock, with an expression on his features of the most engaging vacuity.
“Now, my man!” said the baronet; “what is your business?”
“I come to enkvire, master, if ye has a gawdner?”
“A gardener? No, I have not.”
The oddity’s little eyes looked anywhere but at the speaker. He seemed to be joyously calculating the dimensions of the ceiling.
“Mebbe ye vants a gawdner?” he said roguishly.
“Maybe you want to be engaged? Where do you hail from—any place hereabouts?”