“But you believe in the land.”
Fishpingle might have been repeating the Apostles’ Creed, as he answered solemnly:
“’Tis the backbone of England, Master Lionel. I’ve always thought that. And it ought to supply the nation with all the food it needs, and more too. We’ve ceased to be an island. Everybody admits it. Yes, I believe in the land.”
“Do you believe in the landowners?”
“In some of them.”
He sighed; lines puckered his face. He held out his hands, palms upward, as if he were weighing landowners, and finding the weight short.
Lionel said reflectively:
“You’ve answered my question. I ought to leave the army and put myself under Mr. Moxon.”
“Mr.—Moxon?”
“Didn’t you know? He’s an expert, grappling with this very problem. He gave the Squire some priceless tips, but will he take ’em?”