“Ay,” returned the man, “it’s somebody lookin’ like a lord, and has a small friend wi’ shockin’ old hat, and I see ye come out o’ the Green Drag’n this mornin’—I don’t reck’n there’s e’er a mistaak, but I likes to make cock sure. Be you been to Poortigal, sir?”
“Yes,” answered Evan, “I have been to Poortigal.”
“What’s the name o’ the capital o’ Portugal, sir?” The man looked immensely shrewd, and nodding his consent at the laughing reply, added:
“And there you was born, sir? You’ll excuse my boldness, but I only does what’s necessary.”
Evan said he was not born there.
“No, not born there. That’s good. Now, sir, did you happen to be born anywheres within smell o’ salt water?”
“Yes,” answered Evan, “I was born by the sea.”
“Not far beyond fifty mile from Fall’field here, sir?”
“Something less.”
“All right. Now I’m cock sure,” said the man. “Now, if you’ll have the kindness just to oblige me by—” he sped the words and the instrument jointly at Evan, “—takin’ that there letter, I’ll say good-bye, sir, and my work’s done for the day.”