“Well, I think it is,” said Mr. Wardle.
“There an’t a better spot o’ ground in all Kent, sir,” said the hard-headed man with the pippin-face; “there an’t indeed, sir—I’m sure there an’t, sir.” The hard-headed man looked triumphantly round, as if he had been very much contradicted by somebody, but had got the better of him at last.
“There an’t a better spot o’ ground in all Kent,” said the hard-headed man again, after a pause.
“’Cept Mullins’s Meadows,” observed the fat man solemnly.
“Mullins’s Meadows!” ejaculated the other, with profound contempt.
“Ah, Mullins’s Meadows,” repeated the fat man.
“Reg’lar good land that,” interposed another fat man.
“And so it is, sure-ly,” said a third fat man.
“Everybody knows that,” said the corpulent host.