Natt's face broadened into a superior smile, which seemed to desire his gratuitous informant to tell him something he didn't know. This unspoken request was about to be gratified.
"Dusta ken who came down last?"
Natt waved his hand in silent censure of so much unnecessary zeal, and passed on.
Promptly as the clock struck eight, the London train drew up at the station, and a minute afterward Paul Ritson came out. "Here he be, of course," thought Natt.
Paul was in great spirits. His face wore the brightest smile, and his voice had the cheeriest ring. His clothes, seen by the lamp, looked a little draggled and dirty.
He swung himself into the trap, took the driver's seat and the reins and rattled along with cheerful talk.
It was months since Natt had witnessed such an access of geniality on Paul's part.
"Too good to be true," thought Natt, who, in his own wise way, was silently making a study in histrionics.
"Anything fresh while I've been away?" asked Paul.
"Humph!" said Natt.