The new vicar had caught him in a dozen strides, putting away his pipe as he walked.
“There,” he said, “I won’t ask any more questions about yourself. I’m going down into the town, and we may as well walk together.”
The young workman turned round to face him, angrily, but the calm unruffled look of his superior disarmed him, and he gave a bit of a gulp and walked on.
“I never quarrel with a man for being cross when he has had something to put him out,” said the vicar, quietly. Then seeing that he was touching dangerous ground, he added, “By the way, where’s the vicarage?”
“That’s it, next the church,” was the reply.
“Yes, I see; and what’s that big building with the smoking chimneys?”
“Foundry,” was said gruffly.
“To be sure, yes. Bell foundry, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Then after a pause, “I work theer.”
“Indeed?”