“ ‘Most haste, least speed,’ aw’n heard mi mother say, likewise ‘Hurry no man’s cattle, yo’ may leet to ha’ a mule o’ your own some day.’ ”
“That’s very like,” quoth Ruth, “and a very stupid mule at that.”
“Meaning me,” said the imperturbable Jim, slowly plastering his crust with butter, “an’ thank you kindly for th’ compliment.”
“But really, Jim,” put in Miriam gently, “joking apart, we’re all agog to know what conclusion you’ve come to.”
“Speak for yourself,” snapped Ruth. “I’ve no patience with the man. Anyways, it’s time he was off if he means to get to Wrigley Mill this blessed morning.”
“An’ that’s just what aw dunnot mean,” said Jim. “Yo’ see, aw’st pass Mitchell Mill on my way down fro’ th’ Cutting, an’ aw happen to know th’ felly ’at keeps th’ keys, an’ aw’ll just mak’ it i’ mi way to ovverhaul that ramshackle owd buildin’ fro’ top to bottom. Aw’n thowt o’ a lie to tell him.”
“Oh! Jim,” cried Miriam.
“A lie to tell him,” continued Jim unabashed. “Yo’ see, it ’ud nivver do to let all th’ countryside know what we’re after. For one thing, though Mr. Wrigley’s a just man an’ varry religious, at least his missus is, an’ that’s th’ same thing, for it’s weel known who wears th’ breeches at th’ Holly Grove, he’ll noan be too weel pleased at another mill startin’ just under his nose, so to speik. An’ if it all come to nowt, Abe an’ me might find ussen whistlin’ for a job, an’ a bird i’ th’ hand’s worth two in th’ bush, as aw’n heard mi mother say. So aw’st just say at aw’m thinkin’ o’ keepin’ two or three hundred yead o’ powtry, and that’s all Mitchell Mill’s fit for till someb’dy’s spent a pretty penny puttin’ it to reets agen. Why, there’s a month’s work on th watter-wheel, but aw can see to that, thank God.”
“But that conclusion of yours,” insisted Miriam.
“Oh! that,” said Jim. “Weel, aw’ll tell yo’. Yo’ see this brass o’ Miriam’s nother Abe’s nor mine.