"Captain Drake was a gentleman, sir. His appetite belonged to the old school what be passed away vor ever. When he wur alive I could almost make both ends meet. But he gave me a nasty fright once, when he got telling about a tree what grows abroad—bread tree he called it. Told me volks planted it in their gardens, and picked the loaves off as they wanted 'em. 'Twas a great relief to my mind when he said the tree wouldn't be a commercial success in this country because the sun ain't hot enough to bake the bread. Talking about gentlemen, sir, what do you think of the Brocks?"
"A bad lot," said George, wagging his head.
"Sure enough! They make their own bread," whispered the baker.
"I didn't know they went so far as that," replied the properly horrified George.
"Some volks stick at nothing. But is it fair, sir? How be struggling tradesmen to escape ruin when volks break the law—"
"It's not illegal."
"There's Government again! I tell ye how 'tis, sir, Government means to get rid of me, though I never done anything worse than stop my ears when parson prays vor Parliament. I hates Government, sir, and I do wish it wur possible to vote against both parties. If I wur to make my own tobacco, or vizzy wine such as rich volk drink at funerals, they'd put me away in prison. Why ain't it illegal vor volks to make their own bread? I'll tell ye why, sir: 'tis because Government means to do away wi' bakers. They ha' been telling a lot lately about encouraging home industries, and that's how they stir up volks to ruin we tradesmen by making all they want at home."
"You are not ruined yet. Robert declares you are the richest man in Highfield—not that I believe much he says," George remarked, settling down to business.
"Quite right, sir. I ha' learned Robert to bake, but I can't prevent him from talking childish. He'd like to see me out of the business, so that he could slip into the ruins of it. When he sees I'm the richest man in the village he means the poorest. 'Tis just a contrairy way of talking. Captain Drake often looked in to tell wi' me—out of gratitude vor my doughnuts what helped him to sleep, he said—'twur avore he died so sharp like."
"I guessed as much," said George.