“I was climbing a tree,” said Flower, with a laugh, “and I fell down; I’ve hurt my foot, too.”
“Served you right if you’d broke your neck,” said his amiable host, “climbing trees at your time o’ life.”
“Nice cottage you’ve got here,” said the persistent Flower.
“I wish you ’ad to live in it,” said the old man.
He took a proffered cigar, and after eyeing it for some time, like a young carver with a new joint, took out a huge clasp-knife and slowly sawed the end off.
“Can I sleep here for the night?” asked Flower, at length.
“No, you can’t,” said the old man, drawing at his cigar.
He smoked on, with the air of a man who has just given a very clever answer to a very difficult question.
“We ain’t on’y got one room besides this,” said the old woman solemnly. “Years ago we used to have four and a wash-place.”
“Oh, I could sleep on the floor here,” said Flower, lightly. “I’ll pay you five shillings.”