“Maybe so, Mr. Henchard,” said the weather-caster.
“Ah—why do you call me that?” asked the visitor with a start.
“Because it’s your name. Feeling you’d come I’ve waited for ’ee; and thinking you might be leery from your walk I laid two supper plates—look ye here.” He threw open the door and disclosed the supper-table, at which appeared a second chair, knife and fork, plate and mug, as he had declared.
Henchard felt like Saul at his reception by Samuel; he remained in silence for a few moments, then throwing off the disguise of frigidity which he had hitherto preserved he said, “Then I have not come in vain.... Now, for instance, can ye charm away warts?”
“Without trouble.”
“Cure the evil?”
“That I’ve done—with consideration—if they will wear the toad-bag by night as well as by day.”
“Forecast the weather?”
“With labour and time.”
“Then take this,” said Henchard. “’Tis a crownpiece. Now, what is the harvest fortnight to be? When can I know?’