“My poor fellow, may I be of any assistance—?”
There was a disconcerting jar. The melancholy individual started and turned on him angrily:
“Blast you! I’d nearly got it! What the devil are you doing here?”
And without waiting for an answer he darted away among the trees. At the same time a voice called over the park railings:
“Ho! you, there, what are you doing over there? You come back the way you came. I saw yer.”
The burly figure of a park-keeper with gaiters and stout stick beckoned him. Edwin got up and clambered back again, scratching his arm.
“Now then,” said the keeper. “Name, address, age, and occupation, if you please.”
“I was only—” began Edwin. But what was he only doing? Could he explain to a park-keeper that he was only about to do a kind action to a poor man? He spluttered and gave his name, address, age, and occupation.
“Oh,” exclaimed the keeper. “Fried fish, eh? And what were you trying to do? Get orders? Or were you begging from his lordship?”
“His lordship?”