“Good day, Mr. Gaunt,” answered Hirst, his face grown hard as a bit of limestone grit. “I’ll thank ye to close that gate behind ye.”
“Why? There are no beasts in the croft.”
“I’m not here to argufy. When you find a gate shut, shut it behind ye—that’s what I was taught as a lad.”
It had been a day of insults for Gaunt, and he longed to snap some hasty answer out and ride away; but his errand robbed him of this slight consolation, and he made the best of an awkward matter.
“Billy, just run and shut that gate,” he said.
The natural turned at last, puffing gently at his pipe. “Would oblige ye, I, but ’tis one o’ my playtime-days, Mr. Reuben Gaunt. I’d have bad dreams to-night if I did any work.”
One of Hirst’s men ran to shut the gate, and Reuben looked the farmer in the eyes.
“I want a word with you.”
“Say it here, then, for I’m throng with work, and this job has to be finished off to-night.”
“It can’t be said here. ’Tis a matter of private business, Mr. Hirst.”