“Who is in charge, then? Who is running this business?”
“Mark Tidd,” says I.
“Well, I got something out of you at last,” says he. “But it was like mining for it. Do you always keep what valuable information you have sunk as deep as this?”
“We make drumsticks and dumb-bells and tenpins and chair-rounds,” says I. “Do you want to buy any?”
“No,” says he.
“Be you a travelin’-man? What you got to sell?”
“I’m not a salesman,” says he.
“What be you, then?” says I.
“Nothing that would interest you, young man. Where will I find this Mr. Tidd?”
“Mark Tidd?”