“That’s not the point,” growled Bundock. “I don’t say I’d ha’ faced the elements for you, but if somebody with real traffic and entanglement were living here, e.g. the Duke of Wellington, I should have come through fire and water.”
“The Dook at a farm!” Caleb smiled incredulously.
“In the Battle of Waterloo,” said Bundock icily, “the whole fight was whether he or Boney should hold a farm.”
“You don’t say!” cried Caleb excitedly. “And who got it?”
“Well, it wasn’t Froggy’s Farm.” And Bundock roared with glee and renewed self-respect. Caleb guffawed too, but merely for elation at the Frenchy’s defeat.
The calm and piping voice of Martha broke in upon this robustious duet, pointing out that there was no Duke in residence and no need for natation, but that since Jinny called for orders every Friday he might have given her the letter.
“Give the Queen’s mail to a girl!” Bundock looked apoplectic.
“Jinny never loses anything,” said Martha, unimpressed.
“She’ll lose her character if she ain’t careful,” he said viciously; “driving of a Sunday with Farmer Gale.”
“That’s onny to chapel,” said Caleb.