Slowgoe. Again listen to this: “If Mr Crowther has need of anything being done for him in any way, it is to Mr Howse alone to whom Lord Ripon would wish him to apply. Lord Ripon is confident Mr Crowther will meet with every attention from Mr Howse.”
Nutts. And who is Mr Howse? A near and dear relation to Earl Ripon?
Slowgoe. No: Mr Howse is Earl Ripon’s cook; and therefore, as knowing best his Lordship’s heart through his stomach, could best talk to Mr Crowther. And now think of the ingratitude of this parson. He won’t give the cold shoulder to Mr and Mrs Newton in return for the pony and donkey, but says: “The duties of this situation dictate to me great impartiality, and that I should think no evil, but as much as in me lieth, live peaceably with all men. In the humble hope of accomplishing this course, it must be my care to avoid even the appearance of partisanship in any unhappy differences of the parishioners.” Don’t you call that flying in the face of a nobleman?
Nutts. Yes; and capital flying too.
Slowgoe. Like your revolutionist ways. But his Lordship knows what belongs to the true dignity of a nobleman. He won’t let Mr Crowther wind up his watch by Nocton Hall. That’s sweet revenge. For the parson writes: “I was in the habit of regulating my watch by the clock in the tower of Nocton Hall, and every Saturday evening went up to the Hall for that purpose, having learnt that it was by that time the inhabitants of the two villages regulated theirs. On Saturday evening the policeman on the grounds came up to me and said ‘he was very sorry to be compelled to act so to a gentleman, but he had been directed to warn me off the grounds, and of course he must obey his orders.’” Now isn’t that spirit on the part of his Lordship? Won’t let the clergyman set his watch by Nocton clock. Won’t the parson be sorry for that?
Nutts. I can’t say; but all I know is this, if his Lordship’s clock goes at all like his manners to his curates, it’s the last timepiece I should like to wind myself up by, anyhow.
Chapter VI.
Nutts. Now, Mr Bleak, I b’lieve the shave’s with you. (Bleak takes the chair.) Mustn’t complain; but dreadful weather this for business. Not a soul in town. Had nothing to do but improve my mind all the week. Now, folks who pay rent and taxes can’t afford that. Everybody still at the seaside.