“Only,” continued Harry, “I’m not like you—I han’t a house and a bit o’ land to fall back on; d’ye see? He’d have me on the ropes if I vexed him. He’d slap Wyvern door in my face, and stop my allowance, and sell my horses, and leave me to the ’sizes and the lawyers for my rights; and I couldn’t be comin’ here spongin’ on you, you know.”
“You’d always be welcome, Harry,” said Charles.
“Always,” echoed his wife, in whom every one who belonged to Charlie had a welcome claim.
But Harry went right on with his speech without diverging to thank them.
“And you’ll be snug enough here, you see, and I might go whistle, and dickins a chance I’ll ha’ left but to go list or break horses, or break stones, by jingo; and I ha’ run risks enough in this thing o’ yours—not but I’m willin’ to run more, if need be; but there’s no good in getting myself into pound, you know.”
“By me, Harry. You don’t imagine I could be such a fool,” exclaimed Charles.
“Well, I think ye’ll allow I stood to ye like a brick, and didn’t funk nothin’ that was needful—and I’d do it over again, I would.”
Charles took one hand of the generous fellow, and Alice took the other, and the modest benefactor smiled gruffly and flushed a little, and looked down as they poured forth in concert their acknowledgments.
“Why, see how you two thanks me. I always says to fellows, ‘keep your thanks to yourselves, and do me a good turn when it lies in your ways.’ There’s the sort o’ thanks that butters a fellow’s parsnips—and so—say no more.”