He was glad to see that Mr. Denison looked rather disappointed to think that he was taken at his word.
“Offended! No, indeed, my dear boy. One can’t afford to be offended at a friendly offer nowadays.”
“I daresay, you know, I haven’t put it as nicely as I might, and that’s why you go on refusing. Of course my manners are not up to yours. You’re refined; I’m not. But I mean what I say, and that’s something; if you can’t be refined and all that, any way it’s something to be sincere.”
“It’s everything, in my opinion. I shall not forget your disinterested kindness, Williams. But what put it into your head I can’t think.”
“Came like a flash, you know,” answered the young fellow, promptly. “Gentleman—handsome, dignified gentleman, credit to the parish—looks humped. What’s the cause? Sure to be the old thing—money. Besides, we’ve a mutual interest, you and I; you’re fond of dogs. I suppose you’ve come up to see those hounds they say Mitchell’s got?” he suggested.
For, on reaching the garden paling of Church Cottage, they had both stopped, as if their journey were at an end.
“Well, yes—no; I had come to see Mitchell, certainly; and I had heard about these hounds he’s brought back with him. But that wasn’t altogether my reason for coming.”
He would have babbled out his reason with his usual ingenuousness if Ned had not interrupted the conversation by calling “Good-morning!” approaching them in a leisurely manner at the same time.
“I know what you’ve come for,” he said, with a nod to the younger man. “They’re in there. Don’t be too familiar, unless you want to leave a pound of flesh with them.”
And he jerked his head back in the direction of the room where the bloodhounds were kept. Fred Williams did not wait for further conversation, but raising his hat with great ceremony to Mr. Denison, and shaking his hand warmly, he went through the gate and up to the cottage window. Ned threw at him with some disdain what may be described as half a glance.