“This is my place, sir,” said the agent, as they stopped at the gate of a dingy, double-fronted house. “You’ll have a bit of dinner with us in our humble way?”
“Thank you,” said “the Golden Shoemaker,” “I shall be very glad.”
CHAPTER XXI.
IN NEED OF REPAIRS.
After dinner, “Cobbler” Horn set out with his agent on a tour of inspection through the village.
“We’ll take this row first, sir, if you please,” said Mr. Gray. “One of the people has sent for me to call.”
So saying he led the way towards a row of decrepit cottages which, with their dingy walls and black thatch, looked like a group of fungi, rather than a row of habitations erected by the hand of man.
At the crazy door of the first cottage they were confronted by a stout, red-faced woman with bare beefy arms, who, on seeing “Cobbler” Horn, dropped a curtsey, and suppressed the angry salutation which she had prepared for Mr. Gray.
“A friend of mine, Mrs. Blobs,” said the agent.