“Oh, only just up to Brown’s to see if I could buy a bit o’ kindling for the Missus.”
“Go and buy it, then,” said Joe, turning his back, “and let me get shut o’ thee.”
“Say, Joe Banks,” said Sim, quite unabashed, “as I have met thee I should just like to say a word or two to thee.”
“Say away then.”
“Nay, nay. Not here. Say, mun, that’s a fine primp hedge o’ yourn,” he continued, pointing to the luxuriant privet hedge that divided the garden of the snug house from the road.
“You let my primp hedge bide,” said Joe, sharply; “and if you’ve got any mander o’ message from your lot, spit it out like a man.”
“Message! I a message!” said Sim, with a surprised air. “Not I. It was a word or two ’bout thy lass.”
Joe Banks’s face became crimson, and he turned sharply to see if any one was at door or window so as to have overheard Sim’s words.
As there was no one, he came out of the gate, took his caller’s arm firmly in his great fist, and walked with him down the lane out of sight of the houses, for the foreman’s pretty little place was just at the edge of the town, and looked right down the valley.
Sim’s heart beat a little more quickly, and he felt anything but comfortable; but, calling up such determination as he possessed, he walked on till Joe stopped short, faced him, and then held up a menacing finger.