“Sarvant, sir,” he said, making dabs with his shiny sailor’s hat as if to knock the drops off. “Sarvant, young gentleman,”—this was to Arthur, who rose and bowed stiffly—“how do, Master Dick, how do?”
Uncle Abram beamed and shook Dick’s hand heartily, seeming loth to loose it again, but he relented and turned to Mr Temple.
“You’ll excuse me, sir, for coming when you’re busy; but it’s to help a neighbour out of a difficulty.”
“Subscription?” said Mr Temple.
“Subscription?” said Uncle Abram, dragging a great silk handkerchief from inside his oilskin and wiping the drops of spray from his face. “It was about your lodgings here, sir.”
“My lodgings?” said Mr Temple.
“Yes, sir. You see neighbour here didn’t like to speak to you ’bout the matter, and I said I would. Fact is, four fish-buyers from London come down here to stay with him every year regular all through the season, and you’ve got their rooms.”
“Oh! I have their rooms?” said Mr Temple.
“That’s it, sir, that’s it,” said Uncle Abram; “and when neighbour let ’em to you he thought you only wanted ’em for a few days.”
“And I’ve been here for a few weeks.”