‘Nobility!’
‘My mate hev the title of Honourable, whether or no; so let’s have none of your slack,’ said Sol.
‘Don’t be a fool, young chopstick,’ exclaimed Mountclere. ‘Get the door opened.’
‘I will—in my own way,’ said Sol testily. ‘You mustn’t mind my trading upon your quality, as ’tis a case of necessity. This is a woman nothing will bring to reason but an appeal to the higher powers. If every man of title was as useful as you are to-night, sir, I’d never call them lumber again as long as I live.’
‘How singular!’
‘There’s never a bit of rubbish that won’t come in use if you keep it seven years.’
‘If my utility depends upon keeping you company, may I go to h--- for lacking every atom of the virtue.’
‘Hear, hear! But it hardly is becoming in me to answer up to a man so much older than I, or I could say more. Suppose we draw a line here for the present, sir, and get indoors?’
‘Do what you will, in Heaven’s name.’
A few more words to the woman resulted in her agreeing to admit them if they would attend to themselves afterwards. This Sol promised, and the key of the door was let down to them from the bedroom window by a string. When they had entered, Sol, who knew the house well, busied himself in lighting a fire, the driver going off with a lantern to the stable, where he found standing-room for the two horses. Mountclere walked up and down the kitchen, mumbling words of disgust at the situation, the few of this kind that he let out being just enough to show what a fearfully large number he kept in.