Christopher began to laugh helplessly, and Aymer protested rather indignantly.
“I deny the likeness. But if rolling has to be done, it is better to do it heavily, I suppose. Whose roads shall we roll, Christopher?”
Christopher looked up, suddenly grave. 142
“What do you mean, Cæsar?”
“You say everyone should have a chance and my father insists we are bound by some unknown Board of Guardians to level our neighbours’ roads, so where will you start?”
“On Sam Sartin!”
He sat upright, his face glowing, looking straight at Cæsar. Cæsar’s tone might be flippant, but if he meant what Christopher supposed him to mean, he must not let the golden opportunity slip.
“I thought Sam was in a greengrocer’s shop,” said Cæsar in a drawling, indifferent manner.
“So he is. But would anyone be in a greengrocer’s shop if they could be in anything else? When we were kids, he and I, we used to plan we’d be Lord Mayors—A greengrocer!”
“An honest and respectable calling, if a little dirty,” murmured Mr. Aston. “The greengrocers, I mean not the Lord Mayors.”