The place was perfectly empty as he reached the south end, the shops looked nearly the same, save that at Grader the baker’s there were four covered glasses, containing some tasteless looking biscuits full of holes; a great many flies, hungry and eager to get out, walking in all directions over the panes; and on the lowest shelf Grader’s big tom-cat, enjoying a good sleep in the sun.
Vane did not want any of those biscuits, but just then he caught sight of Distin crossing the churchyard, and to avoid him he popped in at the baker’s, to be saluted by a buzz from the flies, and a slow movement on the part of the cat who rose, raised his back into a high arch, yawned and stretched, and then walked on to the counter, and rubbed his head against Vane’s buttons, as the latter thrust his hands into his pocket for a coin, and tapped on the counter loudly once, then twice, then the third time, but there was no response, for the simple reason that Mrs Grader had gone to talk to a neighbour, and John Grader, having risen at three to bake his bread, and having delivered it after breakfast, was taking a nap.
“Oh, what a sleepy lot they are here!” muttered Vane,
as he went to the door which, as there was no sign of Distin now, and he did not want any biscuits, he passed, and hurried along the street to where Michael Chakes sat in his open window, tapping away slowly at the heavy sole of a big boot which he was ornamenting with rows of hob-nails.
Vane stepped in at once, and the sexton looked up, nodded, and went on nailing again.
“Oughtn’t to put the nails so close, Mike.”
“Nay, that’s the way to put in nails, Mester Vane!” said the sexton.
“But if they were open they’d keep a man from slipping in wet and frost.”
“Don’t want to keep man from slipping, want to make ’em weer.”