“Toe be sure,” said Uncle Abram.
“And he wants me to turn out, eh?” said Mr Temple rather sternly, while Dick’s countenance fell.
“Turn out arn’t the word, sir,” said Uncle Abram. “We don’t do that sort o’ thing to gentlemen down here in the west countree. Man to man—give and take—do to one another as you’d like one another to do unto you. That’s our motter down here, sir. And neighbour he told me his difficulty. ‘Nice gentleman, Mr Temple,’ he says. ‘Master Arthur a bit stiff, but Master Dick—there,’ he says, says neighbour, ‘you know what Master Dick be.’ And I said I did, and I went home and had a chat with my nevvy Will, and then I attacked the missus, and here I be.”
“So I see,” said Mr Temple rather dryly; “but really, Mr Marion, you haven’t explained yourself very clearly.”
“I s’pose not,” said Uncle Abram in a troubled way. “That’s just like me. I never do. Getting old, you see.”
“Am I to understand that you are an ambassador from the landlord, and that he wants us to go?”
“Well, something of that sort, sir,” replied Uncle Abram, who was very busy wiping drops from his forehead that were not spray.
“When do these fish-buyers come?”
“To-day, sir.”
“To-day! Then why did he not speak sooner?”