“Yes,” said he, “I reckon I should know something of my own family, although it’s a generation since I set foot in these parts.”
“Yes; all right,” said Ratman uncomfortably. “I’ll go and order dinner.”
But the entrance of the landlord prevented this manoeuvre.
“The gig from Maxfield is in the village, Mr Armstrong,” said he, addressing the tutor. “I’ve sent word to Robbins to call for you in half an hour. Maybe, if Mr Ratman is going up, you could give him a lift.”
“Mr Ratman is not going up,” said Mr Armstrong.
The stranger here took notice of the tutor.
“Friend of my friend, eh?” said he. “Pleased to know you, sir. Resident in these parts, I presume? What?”
“Quite so,” said Mr Armstrong, putting up his glass, and honouring the speaker with a minute survey.
“As I was saying to our young friend here, there’s been changes in this locality since I was here about the time of Noah. You named Maxfield just now, sir. Likely you know Squire Ingleton, my relative, at the manor-house there?”
The tutor’s glass dropped abruptly.