"Ha-ha! that's good," Brydone ejaculated. "That's very good, Hazlewood. That's good, isn't it, Charlie?"
"Awfully good," agreed the angler.
Their appreciation seemed perfectly genuine, and Guy was touched by the readiness of them to be entertained by his lame wit.
"I mustn't forget to tell the old man that," Brydone chuckled. "He's always digging at me over the fish. Done anything with a rod lately? I knocked down a lot of apples last month. Your governor will like that, Charlie!"
Guy heard the clink of a tray deposited cautiously on the floor of the passage outside. He allowed Miss Peasey time to retreat before he opened the door, because it was one of the clauses in her charter that she was never, as a lady-housekeeper, to be asked to bring a tray into a room when anyone but Guy was present. He hoped that after they had drunk, his visitors would depart; but alas, the unintended charm of his conversation seemed likely to prolong their stay.
"Rabelais," Brydone read slowly as he saw the volumes on the shelves. "That's a bit thick, isn't it?"
"In quantity or quality, do you mean?" asked Guy.
"I've heard that's the thickest book ever written," said Brydone.
"Do you read old French easily?" asked Guy.
"Oh, it's in old French, is it?" said Brydone in a disappointed voice. "That would biff me."