“Come in!” invited John. “You’re very welcome!”
“Thank’ee, sir!”
“The name,” said John, pushing wide the door into the kitchen, “is Jack.”
Mr. Lydd, who was both short and spare, looked up at him under his grizzled brows. “Is it, though? Jest as you please, Jack—no offence being meant!”
“Or taken!” John said promptly. “Sit down! Saw you this morning, didn’t I?”
“Now, fancy you remembering that!” marvelled Mr. Lydd. “Because I didn’t think you noticed me, not partic’lar.”
John had gone to the cupboard, but he turned at this, and stared across the kitchen at his guest. Mr. Lydd met this somewhat grim look with the utmost blandness for a moment or two, and then transferred his attention to Ben. “Well, me lad, so your dad’s hopped the wag, has he? What sort of a fetch is he up to? Gone on the spree, I dessay?”
“Gone up to Lunnon, to see me brother,” said Ben glibly. “ ’Cos he heard as Simmy ain’t in the Navy no more.”
“Fancy that, now!” said Mr. Lydd admiringly. “Made his fortune at sea, I wouldn’t wonder, and sent for his dad to come and share it with him. There’s nothing like pitching it rum, Ben!”
John, who was drawing two tankards of beer at the barrel beside the cupboard, spoke over his shoulder, dismissing his imaginative protégé to bed. Ben showed some slight signs of recalcitrance, but, upon encountering a decidedly stern look, sniffed, and went with lagging step towards the door.