“I say he is, or he wouldn’t be courting and making love to Miss Leo.”
“Do he, Dally?—do he?”
“Why, yes, gran’fa, of course he does and she’s carrying on all the time with Tom. Oh, how I do hate her! Wish he’d let her die!”
“Ay, would ha’ been a good job for everybody—and for me, Dally. But doctor don’t know?”
“Know? Of course not. He’s too stupid. He’s a fool!”
“Nay, he’s not a fool,” said the old man, smoking rapidly. “Doctor’s head’s screwed on right way. He don’t know, or—”
“Or what, gran’fa—or what?”
“He! he! he!” chuckled the old man, as Dally screwed herself round and gazed eagerly in his face. “Here, gently, gently! Don’t stick your little claws into my legs like that, pussy.”
“But what, gran’fa, what?—what would the doctor do?”
“Give him a nasty dose, I should say, Dally,” chuckled the old man. “Doctor don’t know—he arn’t no fool. Does Miss Leo know young squire courts you?”