He was a slight, handsome-looking youth, of a frank face but of a rustic appearance, and he stammered out an apology.
“Why, I did but jest,” I said heartily. “Think no more on’t, particularly as ’twas my fault to have checked the mare of a sudden. But to say the truth I was gaping at the grand folks yonder.”
He stared, after the traps and says he in an interested voice: “Who be they? Is it my Lord Blackdown?”
Now this comparison of that wry-necked, pock-faced villain Grubbe to a person of quality tickled me, but I answered, keeping a straight face.
“Well, not exactly,” says I, “not my lord, but another that should stand or hang as high maybe, and shall some day.”
“Oh,” says he, gazing at me, “a friend of yours, sir?”
He was a ruddy color, and his mouth was habitually a little open, giving him an expression of perpetual wonder and innocence; so that, bless you, I knew him at once for what he was at heart—a simple fellow of a natural kindliness and one of no experience in the world, and a pretty dull wit.
“Not as you might call him, a friend,” said I gravely, “but rather one that has put an affront upon me.”
“You should wipe it out, sir,” says this innocent seriously. “I would allow no man to put an affront on me, gad, I would not!”
“Why,” said I drily, “I bide my time, being, if I may say so, of less mustard and pepper than yourself. Nevertheless it shall be wiped out to the last stain.”