Herring nodded.
'He who don't like that don't know what good living is,' said the constable.
This functionary was a stout man, with a florid face and very pale blue eyes. He was silent for a while, and then he began again.
'I suppose I mightn't stand up and stretch my legs,' he asked; 'I'm in such a constrained and awkerd position sitting here on my 'aunches so long.'
'Certainly not,' said Herring, hastily. 'I entreat you to remain as you are.'
'There was a little fellow I knowed when I was a boy in Tawton—he's dead now. He had been to sea, but he warn't good for much, he were so small in size. He've a told me oft and oft the tale how he were tooked by pirates in the Mediterranean, and sold as a slave at Morocco, in one of them American States, I reckon. He said that the Moors couldn't make much of 'n, he were so small. He were no good to work in the mines, and he were no good to wheel weights. So, as they was determined to have their money's worth out of he, they made 'n sit day and night in one constrained and unnatteral position—hatching turkey eggs.'
Then he relapsed into silence, but not for long.
Presently he spoke again. 'I s'pose I mayn't light a pipe?' his faint mild eyes looked pleadingly at Herring.
'Certainly not.'
'I didn't s'pose I might. I axed because it be tedious waiting. No offence meant.'