He shook his head as he reached the door, and stood with the handle in his hand.
“Fisherman Dick, eh? Well, I’ll go and see what he has to say.”
Volume Three—Chapter Twenty Five.
The Tough Witness.
“Shall I go alone?” said Josiah Barclay, as he stood upon his doorstep. “No, it’s wise to keep your own counsel sometimes, but at others it’s just as well to have witnesses. Who shall I take? Richard Linnell,” he said, after a pause. “He’s the fellow. I’m afraid, though, it looks worse for the old man than it did before. Dick Miggles is as honest as the day as long as he is not smuggling; and he would no more think of choking an old woman than flying. I shouldn’t like to be the revenue officer opposite to him in a row if Master Dick had a pistol in his hand; but he would consider that to be a matter of business. Yes: it looks worse for the old man after all.”
Barclay walked sharply down to the Parade, and went up to the house where Mrs Dean was seated at one of the windows, bemoaning the absence of Cora, and murmuring at her sufferings, as she leaned back flushed, and with her throbbing head in her hand.
For she was very ill, and very ill-tempered, consequent upon her complaint—a weakness and succumbing of her fort, after a long and combined attack made by veal cutlets, new bread, and port wine.
She saw Barclay come up, and declared that he should wait for his rent this time if she died for it.