"Really! now, who'd 'a' thought it?" said his new friend, admiringly. "You'll be just the man for a country life when you're full-grown. Not afraid of roughing it? Fond of riding, I dare say?"
"Oh yes," said Geoff. "At least, in town of course I haven't had as much of it as I'd like." He had never ridden in his life, except the previous summer, on a peculiarly gentle old pony of Mrs. Colethorne's.
"No, in course not. Well now, sir, if you'd no objection to stopping at Shalecray with me, it strikes me my friend there, Farmer Eames, might likely enough know of something to suit you. He's a very decent fellow—a bit rough-spoken, maybe. But you're used to country ways—you'd not mind that."
"Oh, not a bit!" said Geoff. "I'm much obliged to you for thinking of it. And you say it's possible—that this Farmer Eames may perhaps have a place that I should do for?"
"Nay, sir, I can't say that. It's just a chance. I only said he'd maybe know of something."
"Well, I don't see that it will do any harm to ask him. I'll only take a ticket to Shalecray, then. I can go on farther later in the day if I don't find anything to suit me there. We'd better take the first train—a quarter to nine. We've still twenty minutes or so to wait."
"Yes, there's plenty of time—time for a pipe. You don't object, sir? But, bless me"—and he felt in his pockets one after the other—"if I haven't forgotten my 'bacca! With your leave, sir, I'll run across the street to fetch some. I saw a shop as we came in."
"Very well," said Geoff; "I'll wait here. Don't be too late."
He had no particular fancy for going to buy cheap tobacco in the company of the very rustic-looking stranger. Besides, he thought it safer to remain quiet in a dark corner of the waiting-room.
It was curious that, though the countryman came back with a well-filled tobacco-pouch, he had not left the station! He only disappeared for a minute or two into the telegraph office, and the message he there indited was as follows:—