“How are you, old man?”
“Middlin’, thanky’; and how be you, gov’nor?”
“Middlin’ also; and your missus?”
“Only sadly. I fear she’s goin’ slow but sure the way of all flesh.”
“Bless us! ’Tis a trouble and expense them sort o’ things. Now to work, shall we? What do you figure up?”
“And you?”
“Oh, well, I’m not here on reg’lar business. Huntin’ on my own score to-day.”
“Oh, ay! Nice port this.”
“Best the old fellow had in his cellar. I told the executrix I should like the taste of it, and advise thereon.”
The valuers for dilapidations, vulgarly termed dilapidators, were met in the dining-room of the deserted parsonage. Mr. Scantlebray was on one side, Mr. Cargreen on the other. Mr. Scantlebray was on that of the “orphings,” as he termed his clients, and Mr. Cargreen on that of the Rev. Mr. Mules, the recently nominated rector to S. Enodoc.