“You knew this? And not a word to me? Tchah!”
The resentful sparkle in the Squire’s eyes might have been detected also in the eyes of Fishpingle, but there was no irritability in his tone as he said respectfully:
“I haven’t had a word from them yet, Sir Geoffrey, but I guessed what was up.”
“Well, well, I count on you to nip this. It must be nipped—nipped.”
He stood up. Fishpingle remained silent. In a louder voice, with a peremptory gesture, Sir Geoffrey continued:
“Did you hear me, Ben? I said—nipped. No in-and-in breeding on my property.”
Fishpingle observed blandly:
“It worked well enough with the Suffolk punches and the hounds you had from the Duke of Badminton.”
“Damn you, Ben, it is just like your impudence to argue with me. Now—I leave this little matter in your hands. Have you seen that fool Bonsor this morning?”
Bonsor was the bailiff and a source of chronic irritation to his employer. Fishpingle had seen him and spoken to him about some ailing sheep. The Squire listened, frowning and nodding his head. When Fishpingle had finished, he burst out irrelevantly: