“Well, neighbour Bunting,” said the little landlord, leaning over the stile, but not passing its boundary, “and when do you go?--you will have wet weather of it (looking up to the skies)--you must take care of the rumatiz. At your age it’s no trifle, eh--hem.”
“My age! should like to know--what mean by that! my age indeed!--augh!--bother!” grunted Bunting, looking up from his occupation. Peter chuckled inly at the Corporal’s displeasure, and continued, as in an apologetic tone,
“Oh, I ax your pardon, neighbour. I don’t mean to say you are too old to travel. Why there was Hal Whittol, eighty-two come next Michaelmas, took a trip to Lunnun last year--
“For young and old, the stout--the poorly,--The eye of God be on them surely.”
“Bother!” said the Corporal, turning round on his seat.
“And what do you intend doing with the brindled cat? put’un up in the saddle-bags? You won’t surely have the heart to leave’un.”
“As to that,” quoth the Corporal, sighing, “the poor dumb animal makes me sad to think on’t.” And putting down his fish-hooks, he stroked the sides of an enormous cat, who now, with tail on end, and back bowed up, and uttering her lenes susurros--anglicae, purr;--rubbed herself to and fro, athwart the Corporal’s legs.
“What staring there for? won’t ye step in, man? Can climb the stile I suppose?--augh!”
“No thank’ye, neighbour. I do very well here, that is, if you can hear me; your deafness is not so troublesome as it was last win--”
“Bother!” interrupted the Corporal, in a voice that made the little landlord start bolt upright from the easy confidence of his position. Nothing on earth so offended the perpendicular Jacob Bunting, as any insinuation of increasing years or growing infirmities; but at this moment, as he meditated putting Dealtry to some use, he prudently conquered the gathering anger, and added, like the man of the world he justly plumed himself on being--in a voice gentle as a dying howl, “What ‘fraid on? come in, there’s good fellow, want to speak to ye. Come do--a-u-g-h!” the last sound being prolonged into one of unutterable coaxingness, and accompanied with a beck of the hand and a wheedling wink.
These allurements the good Peter could not resist--he clambered the stile, and seated himself on the bench beside the Corporal.