“Still,” he went on, “I will tell you, there was a little inexperience of mankind in your wonder. I think—I don’t refer to myself, of course—that no man in the world is more interesting to talk with than the skilled mechanic who has an individuality and a power of expressing it in words. He is necessarily a man of cultivation, and an ‘h’ more or less in his vocabulary is purely an accident of his surroundings.”
At this moment Mr. Cringle tapped at the door and walked into the room.
“I hope I see you ro-bust, gentlemen? And how do you like this village of ours, Mr. Trender?”
“It’s dirty after Winton,” said I.
“Ah,” he said, condescendingly; “the centers of such enormous forces must naturally rise some dust. It’s a proud thing, sir, to contribit one’s peck to the total. I feel it in my little corner here.”
“Why,” said I, “you surprise me, Mr. Cringle. I’m only an ignorant country lad, of course; but it seems to me you are quite a remarkable figure.”
He gave an extra twist to his mustache and sniggered comfortably. “Well,” he said, “it is not for me to contradict you—eh, Mr. Straw?”
“Certainly not,” said Duke; “why, you are famous for your deeds.”
“Very good, Mr. Straw, and perhaps, as you kindly mean it in the double sense. You mightn’t think it, but it wants some knowledge of the law’s mazes to turn a rough draft into a hold-fast agreement or indenture.”
“And you can do that?”