“Not I,” said the vicar, laughing, “I am going over to Bultitude’s farm; I cannot help your being in the way. Good morning.”
“He was watching me,” muttered Dick, biting his nails. “I wonder whether he saw that note.”
As he stood looking after the vicar, Sim Slee came softly back to wink in a mysterious way, and point with his thumb over his shoulder.
“They’re all alike,” he said—“all alike, parsons and all.”
“What do you mean?” said Dick, roughly. “I thought you’d gone with that note.”
“Thowt I wouldn’t go yet,” said Sim, with another confidential jerk of the thumb over his shoulder. “Joe Banks is sure to be at home now.”
“I tell you he’s down at the foundry, and will stay there all day,” cried Dick, angrily.
“All raight: I’ll go then,” said Sim; “but I say, sir, they’re all alike.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why that parson—that dreadfully good man.”