“Good morning. What’s this I hear about Verrall?” he said, all in a breath.
“What’s what you hear about Verrall?” said young Wingfield, after a pause.
“This about his being turned out of his farm at a moment’s notice?”
And then young Wingfield took the measure of his visitor, and saw with great clearness what was the object of his visit.
“Look here, Mr. Dunning,” he said, “if you know all about the matter, it seems hardly necessary for you to bother yourself coming to ask me about it?”
“Mr. Wingfield, I’m not accustomed to be treated in this cavalier fashion,” cried the agent. “I think an explanation is due to me.”
“Of course an explanation is due to you, Mr. Dunning. I was about to send you a message asking you when it would be convenient for you to drop in on me.”
“It would have been much better if you had sent for me in the first instance.” Mr. Dunning’s tone was now one of forgiveness, tempered by reproof. “So far as I can gather, you told Verrall to turn out of his farm, neck and crop. That was a bit high-handed, and not just the thing that one might expect, considering that you have scarcely found your feet on the property, Mr. Wingfield. The tenants are not accustomed to such high-handed treatment, and I must say that neither am I, Mr. Wingfield.”
“I place myself in your hands, Mr. Dunning,” said Jack. “You see, I’m new to this sort of thing, and you are not. What am I to do in the future?”
And then Mr. Dunning felt that his little plan had succeeded. Firmness—there was nothing like firmness with chaps like young Wingfield. Give them to understand at the outset that you’ll stand no dam nonsense. That was what he felt, and he spoke in the spirit of his philosophy.