“This fine weather,” said Morelli, looking at the sea, “brings a lot of people to the place.”
“Yes,” said Punch, “the ‘Man at Arms’ is full and all the lodgings. It’s a good season.”
“I suppose it makes some difference to you, Mr. Garrick, whether there are people or no?”
“Oh yes,” said Punch, “if there’s no one ’ere I move. I’m staying this time.”
“Do you find that the place changes?” said Morelli.
“No,” said Punch, “it don’t alter at all. Now there are places, Pendragon for one, that you wouldn’t know for the difference. They’ve pulled down the Cove and built flats, and there are niggers and what not. It’s better for the trade, of course, but I don’t like the place.”
“Oh yes, I remember Pendragon,” said Morelli. “There was a house there, the Flutes—Trojan was the name of the people—a fine place.”
“And ’e’s a nice man that’s there now,” said Punch, “Sir ’Enry; what I call a man, but the place is rotten.”
Toby looked in his master’s face and knew that he was ill at ease. He knew his master so well that he recognised his sentiments about people without looking at him twice. His own feelings about other dogs were equally well defined; if he was suspicious of a dog he was on his guard, very polite of course, but sniffing inwardly; his master did the same.
“I can remember when there were only two or three houses in Pendragon,” said Morelli; then suddenly, “You meet a great many people, Mr. Garrick. Everyone here seems to know you. Do you happen to have met a young fellow, Gale is his name? He is staying at the ‘Man at Arms.’”