There was a step, loud and heavy, and Manners started to his feet as a burly figure suddenly appeared just in front of him.
“Hallo, Drinkwater!” he cried. “You, my man?”
“Me it is, Mr Manners.”
“Oh, that’s all right. I was wanting to see you.”
“Wanting to see me? What for?” said the man, gruffly.
“Oh, for several reasons. I don’t like my landlord to go off for days together, nobody knows where.”
“Not wanted now,” said the man, sourly—“Nobody wants me now.”
“That’s not a fact, Drinkwater,” said the artist, firmly. “Not a bit true. To begin with, I want you.”
“Pictures to see too?”
“No, not pictures. I just want to talk to you; that’s all. Have you got your pipe? Oh, I see you have. Here’s my pouch. Come, fill and light up, and sit down here. It’s a lovely night, isn’t it?”