“You ain’t never forgotten how pore dear father died. Mother killed un.”
“Nonsense, my lad.”
“’Tis true as true. Mother, pore soul, she put carbolic acid in an ale bottle. Father—you mind he was Sir Geoffrey’s shepherd?” Fishpingle inclined his head. “Well, he come home-along tarr’ble thirsty, an’, dang me! if he didn’t take a swig out o’ ale bottle. Doctor said ’twould have killed any other man in two jiffs, but father he lived two hours in most tarr’ble agony. ’Twas a very sad mishap.”
Alfred sniffed, overcome by his emotions. Fishpingle nodded.
“I’m sorry, my boy. My memory is not quite what it was. Well, it seems that Prudence wants you and that you want her.”
Alfred smiled again. He began to plead his case excitedly.
“I’ve money in bank, I have. And strong arms to work and fend for her. God A’mighty knows I be fair achin’ for her. I earns good wages, I do. And when you retire, sir, I be countin’ on steppin’ into your shoes.”
“You’ll never quite fill them.”
“That be sober truth. I’ve a dinky lil’ foot I have.”
“You can go.”