"Well, men, you want some land, I suppose?" said Barr, addressing neither of the pair particularly.
"Yes, if it is convenient to you," replied Bert.
"Not 'arf, sir," said Sam, glancing across at the little man's red nose. Sam stroked his own smarting and swollen proboscis and wondered if the other had acquired his the same way.
Visions of an estate dotted with deer, and duck-ponds, and with redskins peering through the undergrowth—his undergrowth—flashed before Bert's mind's eye.
Barr cleared his throat, which appeared a trifle dry.
"Let me see," said he, addressing Bert, "you're from London, aren't you?" Bert nodded affirmatively.
"——And you're from Birmingham?" Barr added, turning to Sam and obviously guessing.
"No, guv'ner—an' thank Gawd for it," retorted Sam fervently. "I'm from the blinkin' smoke, like 'e is," indicating his companion with a nod.
The little red-nosed man with the flaming waistcoat turned round politely and tried to cough, but he surprised himself, and everybody else, by sneezing seven or eight times instead. Flamank's eyes gleamed. The tall figure of the Rev. Lloyd disappeared through the doorway. Barr smiled mechanically, plainly bored, and said:
"Then you both wish to be with the London party, I presume?"