“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he greeted them, glancing around with quiet geniality. “I should like a whisky and soda, Mr. Landlord.”
“That’s right, sir,” was the latter’s prompt reply, as he turned to his shelf.
“My name is Johnson—Peter Johnson,” the newcomer continued, establishing himself in a vacant easy-chair. “I have come to live for a time at the Great House.”
“Very glad to welcome you here, sir,” Mr. Craske assured him civilly.
“Hope you’ll find the place to your liking, sir,” Rawson put in.
“I am very much obliged to you all,” was the gratified rejoinder. “My first impressions are entirely favourable. I have been a hard worker and I need a little rest. So far as I can judge, this seems to me to be a particularly tranquil neighbourhood.”
There was for a moment an almost awkward hiatus in the conversation. The innkeeper and the grocer exchanged glances. Rawson coughed.
“It has always been considered so in the past, sir,” the latter acknowledged.
“This being my first visit, you gentlemen will perhaps join me,” Mr. Johnson invited, as he received his whisky and soda.
Every one accepted the invitation, including the presumed schoolmaster, who had not as yet spoken. Mr. Johnson observed him keenly from underneath his rather heavily lidded eyes.