Mr. Penny adjusted his spectacles.
“Now, I’ll tell ye what happened to me once on this very point. You used to know Johnson the dairyman, William?”
“Ay, sure; I did.”
“Well, ’twasn’t opposite his house, but a little lower down—by his paddock, in front o’ Parkmaze Pool. I was a-bearing across towards Bloom’s End, and lo and behold, there was a man just brought out o’ the Pool, dead; he had un’rayed for a dip, but not being able to pitch it just there had gone in flop over his head. Men looked at en; women looked at en; children looked at en; nobody knowed en. He was covered wi’ a sheet; but I catched sight of his voot, just showing out as they carried en along. ‘I don’t care what name that man went by,’ I said, in my way, ‘but he’s John Woodward’s brother; I can swear to the family voot.’ At that very moment up comes John Woodward, weeping and teaving, ‘I’ve lost my brother! I’ve lost my brother!’”
“Only to think of that!” said Mrs. Dewy.
“’Tis well enough to know this foot and that foot,” said Mr. Spinks. “’Tis long-headed, in fact, as far as feet do go. I know little, ’tis true—I say no more; but show me a man’s foot, and I’ll tell you that man’s heart.”
“You must be a cleverer feller, then, than mankind in jineral,” said the tranter.
“Well, that’s nothing for me to speak of,” returned Mr. Spinks. “A man lives and learns. Maybe I’ve read a leaf or two in my time. I don’t wish to say anything large, mind you; but nevertheless, maybe I have.”
“Yes, I know,” said Michael soothingly, “and all the parish knows, that ye’ve read sommat of everything a’most, and have been a great filler of young folks’ brains. Learning’s a worthy thing, and ye’ve got it, Master Spinks.”
“I make no boast, though I may have read and thought a little; and I know—it may be from much perusing, but I make no boast—that by the time a man’s head is finished, ’tis almost time for him to creep underground. I am over forty-five.”