"You wish to see my brother?" said Kate.
"I do so, if Mr. Charles Thusidger Smith, R.N., be your brother, miss. He give me this card wi's name prented on it, and vowed and declared he'd send me a cheque as soon as he got my bill for the damage he done. 'Tis a week come Saturday since I sent my bill, and daze me if I've got a cheque or even had any answer. That's not fair dealing; it bean't proper; that's what I say."
Mr. Barracombe's eyes twinkled. He glanced at Kate, and said—
"Your name is B-B—"
"Barton, sir; Firtop Farm, Mottisfont."
"What is this b-b-bill for d-d-damages you speak of?"
"Why, sir, 'twas like this. Last Thursday night as was, I was just a-strippin' off my coat to go to bed when I heard a randy of a noise out-along, and my dogs set up a-barkin', and goin' to look, there was a airyplane had shoved hisself into my hayrick, and a young feller a-splutterin' and hollerin', and usin' all manner of heathen language to my dog. He cooled down arter a bit, when I'd spoke to him pretty straight, axin' who'd pay for the mess he'd made, and he went down-along to village, sayin' he'd take a bed there for hisself and his man, and pay me what was fair. Drown me if he wasn't back in half-an-hour, all of a heat, tellin' me in a commandin' way—being an officer by what he said—to pull down my fence and help him hoist that airyplane on to the road. I wouldn't stir a finger till he'd promised faithful to pay, not me; then we worked me and some labourin' men he brought, till we was all of a sweat, and we got the dratted thing out, and off she went, whizzin' and buzzin' in a way I never did see. Come mornin' I took a look at things, and there was half my hay not worth a cuss for horse or ass, and thirty feet of fence fit for nowt but firewood. 'Send in your bill,' says he, and send it I did, and neither song nor sixpence have I got for it. Thinks I, I'll go and see if he give me a right name and address, and a mighty moil 'twas to find the place, and no train back till mornin', and my wife don't know where I be."
"Very annoying. What's the amount of your b-b-bill?"
"Here it be. Cast your eye on it, sir. I ain't overcharged a penny."
He handed Mr. Barracombe a soiled paper folded many times—"To damage to hay, repairing fence, and cleaning up, £4 2s 4-1/2d."