“Well, sir, it do; but one has to be up pretty sharp to get his boots done and his hot water into his room by seven, for if it’s five minutes past he’s there before you, waiting, and looking as black as thunder. My predecessor got the sack, they say, for being quarter of an hour late two or three times, and it isn’t easy to be ready in weather like this.”
“What, dark in the mornings?”
“Oh, no, sir, I don’t mean that. It’s his boots. He gets them that clogged and soaked that I have to wash ’em overnight and put ’em to the kitchen fire, and if that goes out too soon it’s an awful job to get ’em to shine. They don’t have a hot pair of feet in ’em like these, sir. Your portmanteau coming on by the carrier?”
“Oh, no, I go back to-night. And that reminds me—have they got a good dog-cart in the village?”
“Dog-cart, sir?” said the man, with a laugh; “not here. The baker’s got a donkey-cart, and there’s plenty of farmers’ carts. That’s all there is near.”
“I thought so, but I’ve been here so little lately.”
“But you needn’t mind about that, sir. Master’s sure to order our trap to be round to take you to the station, and Tom Johnson’ll be glad enough to drive you.”
“Oh, yes; of course; but I like to be independent. I daresay I shall walk back.”
“I wouldn’t, sir, begging your pardon, for it’s an awkward road in the dark. Tell you what, though, sir, if you did, there’s the man at Barber’s Corner, at the little pub, two miles on the road. He has a very good pony and trap. He does a bit of chicken higgling round the country. You mention my name, sir, and he’d be glad enough to drive you for a florin or half-a-crown.”
“Ah, well, we shall see,” said Dasent, putting down his second leg. “Look a deal better for the touch-up. Get yourself a glass.”