The old gentleman laughed. "Well, Roberts, take it coolly going down stream, and reserve your energies for coming up. I say, lock-keeper, I am told that you let lodgings; have you any rooms vacant?"
"My missus has two rooms, sir," replied Rowles, as he leaned on the great white wooden handle while the lock was emptying through the sluices of the lower gates. "There is a gentleman who generally comes in August, being an upper-class lawyer and can't leave his work till the best of the summer is over, just like printers who lie in bed all day and work all night."
"Don't say a word against printers," said the old gentleman laughing. "That won't do, will it Leonard?"
"No, father," the youth replied.
"So, as I was saying," Rowles went on, "he comes here every August and September, and letters come by the bushel with Q.C. on them; and young Walker—the postman, you know—would just as soon he staid in London. But before August and after September Mrs. Rowles has a tidy little sitting-room and bed-room, if so be as you know anyone would be likely to take them."
"I was only thinking," said the gentleman, "that the hotel is rather too expensive—"
By this time the boat had floated near to the lower gates.
"Hold her up! hold her up!" cried Rowles, "or I can't open the gates. Not you, sir," he added to the stranger who was sculling the other boat; "but you, I mean, Mr. Robert."
For Rowles had caught the name of the servant who was so persevering on the river.
"All right," returned Roberts; "give Mr. Burnet the ticket, please."