He had early found his way into Lancaster’s good graces, so that he was rather troubled by his touch of stiffness at the beginning of the meal. He thawed him, however, with one of his quaint questions, and Lancaster soon found himself pointing out characters and fixing labels, supplying histories and opening his treasury of tales. He forgot that “Dandy wants to know” was the driving-power behind Wigmore’s interest, remembering only that he was being given a clear run for the hobby of his heart. “You know my neighbour here, I suppose--Mr. Dockeray of Ladyford? Oh, well, he’s a pillar of the county--Justice of the Peace, R.D.C., Guardian, etc., so we have to behave ourselves at this end of the room! Mr. Wigmore’s stopping at Watters, Michael--you’ve met Mr. Shaw, of course. Brought him over one day, didn’t I? Michael’s going to give us a song, after a bit. By the way, I hope you’ll be kind enough to do something in that line, too. We fancy our singing here, but I don’t exactly imagine we’ve anything to beat you! Brack Holliday?--yes--that’s the man you gave a lesson in carburettors in the middle of Leighton Mosses. He offered you a cigarette--one of his Turks--and you took it just to oblige him and coughed for ten minutes after he’d cleared out. How do I know? Because I was on the far side of the hedge, working out valuations, and I was pressed for time, or I’d have come over and held your hand or patted you on the back. The shy, thin man between the big cattle-dealer and Belt-End Gibson is Bownass of Moss End. He’s one of your musical people. Been in Sandwath Church choir for years and years, and can’t read a part to save his life. Best ploughman in the district, too--barring, perhaps, Lup Whinnerah, but Lup doesn’t count now, worse luck! You must come to a ploughing-match, one of these days. They’re a bit tedious, though, if you’re a stranger. The masters curse them like anything, beforehand, because the men are so keen practising that they plough like snails, stopping all the time to look behind and admire. It’s a slow job anyway, of course. Still, Miss Shaw might like to know.” He couldn’t resist the sentence, and saw the blood rise in Wiggie’s face. Rather ashamed, he went on hurriedly-- “That’s Thomas Cuthbert Dennison with the twinkle. He’s asking Brack if he means to start classes for restoring respiration. Brack thinks they’re all going to be drowned on the marsh, you know, and Denny wants to be in practice. He’s a great chap! Bit too fond of a joke, that’s all. Did you see the mangold? No? Well, that cob _does_ take a bit of holding!” He met Wigmore’s eye in polite sympathy, and they both laughed.