“So he says. Hang Peter! I don’t like him, somehow.”
There was a comical look of chagrin in the old man’s face as he spoke; but it was mingled with a dry, humorous air that refused to be concealed, and I seemed to feel in my heart that if the brothers met, Mr Jabez would be thoroughly cordial.
“Well, I’m glad you did condescend to call, young engine-driver,” he said at last; “as it happens, I’m not busy to-night. You won’t take a pinch of snuff?”
I shook my head.
“What will you have, then? Have some almonds and raisins? Figs? Some oranges? Well, some sweetstuff? They’ve got some capital cocoa-nut candy downstairs! No? Well, have some candied peel?”
“No, thank you, Mr Jabez,” I said, laughing. “Why, what a baby you do think me.”
“Well, so you are,” he growled. “You don’t want me to ask you to have beer, or grog, or cigars, do you?”
“Oh no!” I said, laughing.
“Good job, too, because you wouldn’t catch me giving them to you. Well, how’s your policeman?”
“Quite well.”