"I 'ope so, sir. I ain't never wot you may call got used ter these Northerners. That slow, they are, sir—it fair giv' me the 'ump when I first come. And the w'y they speak—that took some gettin' used to. Call that English, I useter say, give me the Frenchies in the Chantycleer Restaurong, I ses. But there, sir, custom's everything. Blowed if I didn't ketch myself a-syin' 'yon side the square' the other day. Me!"
"I don't think there's much fear of your turning into a Yorkshire man," said Lord Peter, "didn't I know you the minute I set eyes on you? In Mr. Watchett's bar I said to myself, 'My foot is on my native paving-stones.'"
"That's raight, sir. And, bein' there, sir, what can I 'ave the pleasure of offerin' you?... Excuse me, sir, but 'aven't I seen your fice somewhere?"
"I don't think so," said Peter; "but that reminds me. Do you know one Mr. Grimethorpe?"
"I know five Mr. Grimethorpes. W'ich of 'em was you meanin', sir?"
"Mr. Grimethorpe of Grider's Hole."
The landlord's cheerful face darkened.
"Friend of yours, sir?"
"Not exactly. An acquaintance."
"There naow!" cried Mr. Watchett, smacking his hand down upon the counter. "I knowed as I knowed your fice! Don't you live over at Riddlesdale, sir?"