Much abashed, Chirk begged his pardon. He then eyed him sideways, and said: “A regular Long Meg she is, but a mort o’ mettle, that I will say! Much like yourself, Soldier! Not scared of my pops! Did she tell you how it chanced that I met Rose?”
“She did, and it seemed to me that hedge-bird though you are you’re a good fellow, for you didn’t take their purses from them. Or were you afraid of Rose?”
Mr. Chirk chuckled reminiscently. “Ay, fit to tear the eyes out of my head she was! And her own sparkling that pretty as you never did see! But, lordy, Soldier, I never knew it was only a couple o’ morts in the gig, or I wouldn’t have held ’em up!”
“I believe you wouldn’t indeed. Does Rose know that you come to this house?”
“No. Only you, and Ned, and young Ben knows that—and only you knows what my business is!”
“Never mind that! Tell Rose you’ve met me! There have been changes up at the Manor since you were last here!”
“Squire been put to bed with a shovel?” asked Chirk. “Sick as a horse, he was, by what Rose told me.”
“Not that. But his grandson is at Kellands, with a friend. Name of Coate. What brings him into Derbyshire, no one knows: nothing good, I fancy!”
“Flash cove?” said Chirk, cocking an intelligent eyebrow.
“I’ll cap downright!” said John, in the vernacular.