“I know him very well indeed, sir. I am a mill-owner myself in the same place: but not as large a one as he is.”
“He is uncommonly rich, we hear.”
“Ay, he is. Could buy up pretty well half the world.”
“And a good man into the bargain?”
“Downright good. Honest, upright, liberal; a true Christian. He does an immense deal for his fellow-men. Nobody ever asks him to put his hand in his pocket in vain.”
“When is he expected home?”
“I am not sure when. That will depend, I expect, upon how he feels. But we hear the outward voyage has quite set him up.”
“Captain Foliott often talks of his uncle. He seems to think there’s nobody like him.”
“He has cause to think it. Yes, I assure you, sirs, few men in the world can come up to George Foliott, the mill-owner, for probity and goodness.”
How much more he might have said in Mr. Foliott’s praise was cut short by the hasty appearance of two young men, evidently the friends of Mr. Crane. They laughed at the speed they had made down the hill, told him the carriage was ready, and that they ought to start at once to reach Worcester by dinner-time. So the portly old gentleman wished us good-day and departed. Running up the bank, I saw them drive off from the Crown in a handsome two-horse phæton.