"That'll do, Joe."
"Nearly did 'do' for me. The wife"—he liked this expression, having heard Pinker use it—"the wife fairly wallered in it. Blue water, wind and waves—ugh!"
"It would have been just lovely," Susan admitted, "if Mr. Quinney——"
"Hadn't 'ad his bloomin' head in a basin. No, I ain't going to say another word. Disgusting about fits it. Well, I was saying it was something stronger than meself drove me out of good old England."
"Mr. Tomlin," put in Susan. She added for the benefit of the stranger, "He's a big London dealer."
Joe snorted.
"Tomlin ain't stronger than me, Susan. He's bigger in the trade, that's all, and come to his full growth, too. I'm sorter speak sproutin'. Do you know Tomlin, of the Fulham Road?"
"Oh yes."
Le Marchant smiled faintly. Quinney, intent upon his own glorification, missed a derisive expression, but Susan was sharper. She decided instantly that there had been "dealings" between the great Tomlin and this nice gentleman, and that they had not been entirely satisfactory. Joe continued, warming to his work:
"Tomlin told me about this faker of old oak."