"The prison should be a good, handy market for farm produce," ventured Peter.
"It is; but I'd rather starve than touch their vile money," said Malherb.
He gave his arm to his daughter and went to the dining-room, while Mr. Norcot and Mrs. Malherb followed them.
Kekewich always waited upon the family, and not seldom he was addressed during the course of a meal concerning subjects within his wide knowledge. Now the talk turned to trade, and Norcot explained a serious problem of his own business.
"Everything is depressed in these fighting times," he said. "One looks for that and provides for it. But what shall be thought of our principal customers, the East India Company? Wool don't get cheaper, that's very certain, but they are sending down the price of long ells half-a-crown a piece. They say that our woollens are often a drug in the Indian market; and now to remedy the thin web, every piece of long ell in stripes shall weigh twelve pounds. We work web at coarser pitch to meet this want, and, of course, defeat the object of the demand by producing rubbish."
The conversation became profoundly technical, and Malherb, who deemed himself an expert upon wool, as upon most other subjects, uttered great words. Then Kekewich, himself an old wool-comber, became so interested that he forgot his business. At last he could stand it no more, but set down a dish violently and plunged into conversation, much to Norcot's entertainment. He perceived, however, that Kekewich knew far more about the matter than Mr. Malherb, and when the servant was from the room made a jest upon him.
"A wonderful man, and sane too. Sound sense—every word of it.
"'Old Kek doth with his lantern jaws
Throw light upon the woollen laws.'"
"And upon most other matters," declared Grace. "And his thoughts are all his own—borrowed from nobody."
"It happens to me," confessed Peter, "that the things I think have always been better worded by others. With becoming modesty, therefore, I borrow."