“Only that he has a good heavy account with our bank.”
Wimble looked sharply at the stranger, with his head on one side, and more than one eager question upon his lips. But the new-comer felt that he had made a slip by talking too freely, and prevented him by asking a question himself.
“Do you think Mrs Sarson could accommodate me?”
“No, sir,” said Wimble, looking at him searchingly. “No: she has no room, I am sure. Take the gentleman up to Mrs Lampton’s at the top of the cliff road. I daresay she could accommodate him.”
“Why, of course,” said Brime; “the very place. I never thought of that.”
“No, Mr Brime,” said Wimble patronisingly, as he looked longingly at the visitor with cross-examination in his breast. “Say I recommended the gentleman.”
“All right. Come along, sir, I’ll show you; and if you want a few worms for fishing, I’m your man.”
“Worms?” said the visitor, laughing. “I always use flies.”
“Most gents do, sir. Mr Chris Lisle does. But the way to get hold of a good fish in a river is with a whacking great worm.”
“Do you know Mr Lisle?”