Mr. Protheroe, without speaking, sauntered out at the gate, vaulted a stile opposite, and paused in a field pathway. Thistlewood followed, throwing first one leg and then the other over the rail with a sort of laboured deliberation.
‘Now,’ said Lane.
‘We’ll walk on a little bit,’ answered Thistlewood, and there was silence for a minute or two as they strode along the grass. Then when they had reached the shelter of a little copse which hid them from the whole landscape on the church side, John said, ‘Now,’ in turn, and the two halted. Each was paler than common by this time, and Lane’s eyes sparkled, whilst the other’s burned steady with resentment.
‘’Twixt man and man as is willing to come to understand one another, Mr. Protheroe,’ said Thistlewood, ‘a very few words suffices. I’ll have thee nor no man else poaching on my manor.’
‘Well,’ Lane answered, ‘if ever I should arrive at owning a manor, I’d say the same. But I’d be sure of my title-deeds afore I took to warning other men off the ground.’
‘Let’s talk plain English,’ said John, apparently quite untouched by this rejoinder.
‘With all my heart,’ said his rival, ‘the plainer the better.’
‘I find you very much i’ my way,’ Thistlewood began ponderously.
‘I don’t find you a little bit in mine,’ Lane answered.
‘You talk to sting,’ said Thistlewood, with dull dignity. ‘I want to talk so as to be understood. I find you very much i’ my way, as I was saying, and I won’t have you theer.’