He turned and walked out across the yard, and the burly stoker looked after him with interest and curiosity. "They comes and goes," he soliloquized. "Rum thing about that gipsy bloke, still it ain't no business o' mine." Which was a point of view he had acquired in the army.
Darwen met Carstairs on the platform at Southville station.
"You're on with me for the first week," he said. His marvellous eyes sparkled with delight. "Where's your luggage? I've got a cab waiting. The new digs (I swopped this morning) are about two miles out, first-class place; thirty bob a week each. You don't mind that, do you? Piano too. Do you vamp? Never mind, I can do enough for two."
He seemed unusually excited. Carstairs couldn't help feeling flattered at the obvious pleasure his arrival caused.
As they rattled away in the cab, Darwen explained: "I'm jolly glad you've come, sort of levels up over that misunderstanding about this job."
"Oh! that's all right."
"Yes, it is now. You're a damn good sort, you know, Carstairs. You and I ought to run this job. Chief and chief assistant. How would that suit you?"
Carstairs smiled, a steady smile. "First-class," he answered.
Darwen was watching him closely, he seemed quite exultant at Carstairs' reply. "I knew it would. You wait till you see the chief and chief assistant here, they're not fit to run a mud dredger."
"Why don't you sack 'em then?" Carstairs laughed.