“No, sir, you don’t look as if you was stuffed. I was going to take you to our barber’s. He knows everything; and he’ll tell us whether Mrs Sarson can take you in.”
“Is it far—the museum?”
“Only yonder. Just where you see that man looking out of the door.”
“Ah, yes,” said the stranger sharply. “Yours seems a busy place.”
“Tidy, sir, tidy.”
“Whose castle’s that?”
“Mr Gartram’s, sir. Leastwise it was. He’s gone.”
“Oh! Dead?”
“Yes, sir. The hardest and the best master as ever was. Some on us’ll miss him, I expect.”
“Curious kind of master, my lad, and likely to be missed. Gartram? Oh, yes, I know; the stone quarry man. Mr Trevithick, in our town, has to do with his affairs.”