"
"There," said the Squire with an expression of infinite disgust,
"there, that's just like your way, your horrid cadging way; the idea
of telling a man to be 'round about the Poplars' sometime or other
to-day, because you wanted to speak to him about a fell. Why didn't
you write him a letter like an ordinary Christian and make an offer,
instead of dodging him round a farm for half a day like a wild Indian?
Besides, the Poplars is half a mile off, if it's a yard."
"Lord, sir," said George as he retired, "that ain't the way that folks
in these parts like to do business, that ain't. Letter writing is all
very well for Londoners and other furriners, but it don't do here.
Besides, sir, I shall hear you well enough up there. Sarvant, sir!"
this to Edward Cossey, and he was gone.
Edward burst out laughing, and the Squire looked after his retainer
with a comical air.
"No wonder that the place has got into a mess with such a fellow as
that to manage it," he said aloud. "The idea of hunting a man round
the Poplars Farm like--like an Indian squaw! He's a regular cadger,
that's what he is, and that's all he's fit for. However, it's his way
of doing business and I shan't alter him. Well, Mr. Cossey," he went
on, "this is a very sad state of affairs, at any rate so far as I am
concerned.
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