"You post—you stock of a man!—couldn't you see that the first thing was Woodrow's address? Now others will get to hear tell of this, and then Thorpe will be offering his dog-kennel of a house at Little Lydford, or them Barkells at Bridgetstowe will try to get him for that tumble-down hovel by the church. Why didn't Prout tell me instead of you? If you were a man instead of a mommet,[[1]] you'd turn back this minute and not rest till you'd got farmer's address for Jarratt. 'Tis taking bread out of your son's mouth if you don't—mark me."
[[1]] Mommet, Scarecrow.
"I'll run back an' get it, if you like," said Susan, who walked beside her aunt.
"As a matter of fact, the address is took down in my pocket-book," explained Mr. Weekes with calm triumph. "An' more than that: I've got John Prout's faithful promise not to tell nobody else the address till we've had two days' start. That may be the work of a post or a mommet, or it may not. For my part, I'm pleased with myself."
"Then why ever didn't you say so?" asked Mrs. Weekes. "'Twas a very proper, smart thing to do, Philip—and a very hopeful thing in you. I always say, and always shall say, that so far as Almighty God's concerned, He've done His part in you. You've got a handsome share of intellects—in fact, more than your share, if you wouldn't be so rash and reckless."
"So I say my self," answered the huckster; "and another thing: I ought to have a bit of commission from Jarratt, if this goes through. A lot of these little bits of business I do for him, off and on, but I never get a half-crown from the man."
"If it goes through, us ought to be thought upon, certainly," admitted his wife; "but what with his marriage next year, and that bad debt to Sourton, and one thing and another, Jar won't be flinging his money about over-free just now."
CHAPTER IX
A HUNGRY MAN
Hilary Woodrow returned home at Christmas. In the meantime he had heard from Jarratt Weekes and agreed to take his cottage at Lydford for an indefinite period.