"You take care of this horse?"
"I take care of pretty nearly everything round about here, for the bos doesn't do much now, but he gives a reg'lar 'go at it' now and then though."
"I suppose you like this job," remarked Frank, meanwhile scanning the horse and forming his opinion of this member of the equine genus. Here is his judgment: "A famous trotter! a spirited steed!—indeed!—an old nag not worth half-a-guinea."
"What job?" said Jacques.
"Working about here, I mean, working for Mr. Rougeant."
"Well, ye-yes, but you've got to know how to tackle the guv'nor; he's a quair sort. I've worked for the Rougeants for forty-two years, and the old fellow's never given me more than my day's wage." Then he added in an undertone, "He's a reg'lar miser, he's got some tin! They say he's worth four hundred quarters."
Four hundred pounds income, was to old Jacques a large fortune.
"Ah," he went on, "if only I had four hundred pounds capital, with the little that I have scraped together, I would not trouble to work any more, I would have enough for the rest of my days. We live on thirty pounds a year, me and my old missus.
"We're not allu's feastin', you see; besides, the house we live in is ours. Built with my savin's when I married, it was——"
"Mrs. Rougeant is dead, is she not?" questioned Frank, anxious to learn more about the family.