“And you don't see any of them in my face, eh?”
The constable jerked his head after his own peculiar fashion, but declined to reply directly to this interrogatory. He parried it by one of his own.
“In the doctorin' line, make so bould?”
“No,” said Tom. “You don't seem to have such very good eyes, after all.”
“Oh, I seed you wasn't old enough to be doin' for yourself, like; but I thought you med ha' been a 'sistant, or summat.”
“Well, then, you're just mistaken,” said Tom, considerably disgusted at being taken for a country doctor's assistant.
“I ax your pill-don,” said the constable. “But if you beant in the doctorin' line, what be gwine to Widow Winburn's for, make so bould?”
“That's my look out, I suppose,” said Tom, almost angrily. “That's the house, isn't it?” and he pointed to the cottage already described, at the corner of Englebourn Copse.
“Ees.”
“Good day, then.”