“Well, I suppose you were, in surgery,” said Oldroyd, looking hard at the man’s pinched face and settled frown; “but, I say, my man, hadn’t you better drop that life now, and try something different?”
“Easier said than done, doctor,” replied Hayle grimly. “Give a dog a bad name and hang him. Nobody wouldn’t employ me. S’pose I said to you. ‘Change your life and turn parson.’ Wouldn’t be easy, would it?”
Oldroyd shook his head.
“Perhaps not,” he said; “but you’re too good a man for a poacher. Look here, Hayle; Morton has left and gone to Lord Bogmere’s. Sir John Day is very friendly to me. Let me go and state your case to him frankly.”
“Wouldn’t be no good, sir.”
“Don’t say that. He’s a thorough English gentleman, always ready to do anyone a good turn. I believe in you, Hayle; and if I say to him that you would gladly come and serve him faithfully, I should say so believing honestly that you would. Shall I speak to him?”
“Thank you kindly, sir, but not now. I’ve got too much else on my mind,” said Hayle, gazing at the doctor searchingly. “Been to see the old lady?”
“Yes.”
“Did—did she tell you any news?”
Oldroyd nodded.