“Mr. Hunsden! good evening.”
“Good evening, indeed! yes, but you would have passed me without recognition if I had not been so civil as to speak first.”
“I did not know you.”
“A famous excuse! You ought to have known me; I knew you, though you were going ahead like a steam-engine. Are the police after you?”
“It wouldn’t be worth their while; I’m not of consequence enough to attract them.”
“Alas, poor shepherd! Alack and well-a-day! What a theme for regret, and how down in the mouth you must be, judging from the sound of your voice! But since you’re not running from the police, from whom are you running? the devil?”
“On the contrary, I am going post to him.”
“That is well—you’re just in luck: this is Tuesday evening; there are scores of market gigs and carts returning to Dinneford to-night; and he, or some of his, have a seat in all regularly; so, if you’ll step in and sit half-an-hour in my bachelor’s parlour, you may catch him as he passes without much trouble. I think though you’d better let him alone to-night, he’ll have so many customers to serve; Tuesday is his busy day in X—— and Dinneford; come in at all events.”
He swung the wicket open as he spoke.
“Do you really wish me to go in?” I asked.