Mr. Baskerville saw nothing for it but to sell by deputy at loss, or withdraw his stock from the fair. He debated the point with Mrs. Hacker, and her common-sense revealed an alternative.
"Lord, man alive, what are you frightened of?" she asked. "Can't you go up along, like any other chap with summat to sell, and get rid of your beasts yourself? You did use to do it thirty year ago, and nobody was any the worse, I believe."
He stared at her.
"Go in a crowd like that and barter my things like a huckster?"
"Well, why not? You'm only made of flesh and bone like t'others. You won't melt away. 'Tis just because you always avoid 'em, that they think you give yourself airs, and reckon they ban't good enough company for you."
"I don't avoid 'em."
"Yes, you do. But you'm not the only honest man in the world, though sometimes you think you are. And if you'd ope your eyes wider, you'd find a plenty others. For my part, if I was paid for it, I couldn't number more rogues in Shaugh than I can count upon the fingers of both hands."
"To go up myself! Who'd believe it was me if they saw me?"
"They want your ponies, not you; and when it came to paying the price of the ponies, they'd soon know 'twas you then."
"I suppose you think I charge too much. Like your impudence! Are you going?" he asked.