“I am looking for German prisoners, Joe; if you see a farmer, you might stop.”
“Any sort of farmer?” asked Joe.
“Is there more than one sort?” returned Mr. Lavender, smiling.
Joe cocked his eye. “Ain't you never lived in the country, sir?”
“Not for more than a few weeks at a time, Joe, unless Rochester counts. Of course, I know Eastbourne very well.”
“I know Eastbourne from the inside,” said Joe discursively. “I was a waiter there once.”
“An interesting life, a waiter's, Joe, I should think.”
“Ah! Everything comes to 'im who waits, they say. But abaht farmers—you've got a lot to learn, sir.”
“I am always conscious of that, Joe; the ramifications of public life are innumerable.”
“I could give you some rummikins abaht farmers. I once travelled in breeches.”