“I want a little private conversation with you, sir.”
“Get out, you!” to the ancient hag, who reluctantly walked from the room, but left the door ajar.
“Wull ee shut the door?”
Felix went and closed it. “This is a fine old house,” he began, trying to get en rapport before opening his mission.
“Aw, eez.”
“And a beautiful view.”
“Mebbe.”
“You have had great experience of life, sir.”
“Likely zo.”
Andrew had had a good education in his youth, but lapsed two generations ago into broad provincialism. Now it had got about (as such things will) that Andrew was backing Val Browne’s dark horse heavily, and May was anxious about her grandfather’s intercourse with the trainer, who, except in his employer’s eyes, was far from perfect. She dreaded lest he should be cheated and lose the money—not so much for the sake of the amount, but because at his age and with his terrible temper it was impossible to say what effect it might have upon his health. So Felix, as a clergyman, wished to warn the aged man; but a little nervous (as might be pardoned under the circumstances) he did not, perhaps, go about it the right way.