"I had not that honour, sir, till I came here myself."
"Well I never saw anybody as did," said Squire Deacon.—"I s'pose he comes from somewhere."
"I doubt it," said Dr. Harrison with the slightest possible elevation of his eyebrows for an instant. Squire Deacon, however, was not just the fool Dr. Harrison took him for; of which fact a little gleam in his eyes gave notice.
"'Taint extraordinary you don't like him, doctor," he said carelessly. "Mr. Linden's a fine man, but 'most any pair o' wheels is one too many in some roads."
"I never followed a wheelbarrow, sir," said the doctor. "I suppose, from your allusion, you have. May I be honoured with your further commands?"
"Wheelbarrows have only one wheel, mostly," said Squire Deacon composedly.
"You know better than I, sir. Might I enquire why you are anxious about the state of Mr. Linden's health?"
"Don't know as I said I was anxious—" said Squire Deacon. "When a man's lived in a place as long as he has, it's nothing wonderful if folks ask whether he's going to hold on. All the women in my house think he's dead and buried, now."
"Ah! He's a favourite in that line, is he?"
"Other lines just as much—for all I know," said the Squire. "Can't say I ever just went in for all Mr. Simlins says nor all Parson Somers says, neither,—can't help that, doctor, if he is one o' your folks."