"That's as may be. It's Griff Lummax that's creeping, sly as a fox, up th' hillside."
Three of the poaching set that foregathered at the Dog and Grouse were on the moor that afternoon, and Jack o' Ling Crag spoke up for his absent friend.
"If that's all tha hes to tell us, Joe, tha mud as weel gang back th' way tha came. He's a proper set up chap, is Mr. Lummax, an' it's noan his breed that peaches on a mate."
"Oh, ay, he's a grand un!" echoed Joe, with beery derision. "He prigged my wife, he did; an' a man that 'ull do that, 'ull do owt."
"He did thy wife a sarvice, anyhow, I'm thinking," snapped Will Reddiough.
They all laughed at that, and their laughter braced up Joe's wits to further effort.
"Well, seeing's believing," he muttered.
"Eh? Speak out, mon, if tha's getten owt to say."
The little group was pressing close about him now; the sulkiness of his tones seemed to give added weight to his innuendo.