“What!” cried the doctor. “To England?”
“No, I didn’t say that. I’m not going to cross the herring-pond. Your people yonder wouldn’t take to me. But let’s try some other place. Pull up tent-pegs and take up a location farther north, and I’ll go with you. What do you say, doctor?”
“That you are wasting your life here, Mr Griggs, and that I should strongly advise you to make a fresh start.”
“Along with you and the other neighbours?”
“I do not say that.”
“Eh? Not too proud to have me, are you?”
“Certainly not,” said the doctor warmly. “You have often proved yourself too good a friend.”
“Ah, that sounds better, doctor. Just you think over what I said, and don’t be in too great a hurry to go back to the old-country. There, thankye for the dinner.”
“Dinner!” said Wilton contemptuously. “I wish it was.”
“Might have been worse,” said the American good-humouredly. “You old-country folk have a saying about, ‘You shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.’ Well, that’ll do in this case—noo version. When you go out to dinner you shouldn’t look at what people give you to put in your mouth. There, I’m off. But lookye here, squires, all of you. I’m off now to go on killing blight and things, but as soon as you’re tired of our wild man, just send me word, and I’ll fetch him over to my place.”