“Why, hallo! Daniel Barnett. Been to the bookseller’s lately?”
“Eh? No, sir, I haven’t been to the town for a fortnight past,” said Barnett wonderingly.
“Oh,” said the bailiff, with a knowing look at his wife and daughter; “I thought perhaps you’d bought and been studying up Etiquette for Gentlemen.”
“No, no, sir! Ha, ha, ha! That’s a good one, Mr Ellis. Oh, no, sir, I’m only a rough one, and what I know of etiquetty came up natural like—like—”
“Mushrooms?”
“That’s a good one too!” cried Barnett, with forced gaiety. “He’s having his little joke at me, Miss Mary.”
“There, never mind them,” said the bailiff, “let’s have the business and get it over. What is it?”
“Of course, sir. It won’t take long.”
“Shall we go in the kitchen, James?” said Mrs Ellis.
“Eh, ma’am?” cried the young man eagerly. “Oh, no, pray don’t let me drive you away, it’s only garden business.”