DAWKER. Make him keener than ever. Better get in first.
HILLCRIST. Ape his methods!—Ugh! Confound this gout! [He gets back to his chair with difficulty] Look here, Dawker, I wanted to see you about gates——
FELLOWS. [Entering] Mr. Hornblower.
[HORNBLOWER enters-a man of medium, height, thoroughly broadened, blown out, as it were, by success. He has thick, coarse, dark hair, just grizzled, wry bushy eyebrow, a wide mouth. He wears quite ordinary clothes, as if that department were in charge of someone who knew about such, things. He has a small rose in his buttonhole, and carries a Homburg hat, which one suspects will look too small on his head.]
HORNBLOWER. Good morning! good morning! How are ye, Dawker? Fine morning! Lovely weather!
[His voice has a curious blend in its tone of brass and oil,
and an accent not quite Scotch nor quite North country.]
Haven't seen ye for a long time, Hillcrist.
HILLCRIST. [Who has risen] Not since I sold you Longmeadow and those cottages, I believe.
HORNBLOWER. Dear me, now! that's what I came about.
HILLCRIST. [Subsiding again into his chair] Forgive me! Won't you sit down?