One evening Antony, busy weeding his small flagged path, saw Job in the road.
“Good evening,” said Antony; and then he perceived by the other’s face, that matters were not as they might be.
“Sure, what’s amiss with the world at all?” demanded Antony, going down towards the gate.
“It’s that fellow Curtis,” said Job briefly, leaning on the gate.
“And what’ll he have been up to now?” asked Antony. It would not be the first time he had heard tales of the agent.
Job kicked the gate.
“Says he’s wanting my cottage for a chauffeur he’s getting down from Bristol, and I’m to turn out at the end of August.”
“Devil take the man!” cried Antony. “Why can’t his new chauffeur be living in the room above the garage, like the old one?”
Job grunted. “Because this one’s a married man.”
“And where are you to go at all?” demanded a wrathful Antony.