“They are, by Jove!” assented the sporting guest as he took another gun, while the saturnine keeper smiled grimly.
Meanwhile, Strelley Mill began to suffer under this gangrene. It was the outpost in the wilderness. It was an understood thing that none of the squire’s tenants had a gun.
“Well,” said the squire to Mr. Saxton, “you have the land for next to nothing—next to nothing—at a rent really absurd. Surely the little that the rabbits eat——”
“It’s not a little—come and look for yourself,” replied the farmer. The squire made a gesture of impatience.
“What do you want?” he inquired.
“Will you wire me off?” was the repeated request.
“Wire is—what does Halkett say—so much per yard—and it would come to—what did Halkett tell me now?—but a large sum. No, I can’t do it.”
“Well, I can’t live like this.”
“Have another glass of whisky? Yes, yes, I want another glass myself, and I can’t drink alone—so if I am to enjoy my glass.—That’s it! Now surely you exaggerate a little. It’s not so bad.”
“I can’t go on like it, I’m sure.”