The way was overshadowed by trees and neither man recognised the other until Waite spoke. Then Mr. Head, feeling himself within the atmosphere of a happy being, grunted a churlish answer and made himself known.
Thereon Timothy's manner changed and he regretted his amenity.
"Is that Head?" he asked in an altered tone.
"You know my voice, I suppose."
"Yes, I do. I want to speak to you. And I have meant to for some time past. But the chance didn't offer, as you don't go to church, or any respectable place; and I don't frequent publics."
The other bristled instantly.
"What the hell's the matter with you?" he shouted.
"Nothing's the matter with me. But there's a lot the matter with you by all accounts, and since you can't keep a civil tongue in your head, it's time your betters took you in hand a bit."
Jack stared speechless at this blunt attack. The moon whitened his face, his lean jaw dropped and his teeth glimmered.
"Well, I'm damned! 'My betters'—eh?"