“Oh, I can easily answer it. I get all my way of speaking from my father first, and, secondly, because I love books.” He looked at me oddly. “You’re a modest chicken,” he said. “But I should like to meet your father.” I could not echo his wish. “Still,” he went on, “I will tell you, there was a little inexperience of mankind in your wonder. I think--I don’t refer to myself, of course--that no man in the world is more interesting to talk with than the skilled mechanic who has an individuality and a power of expressing it in words. He is necessarily a man of cultivation, and an ‘h’ more or less in his vocabulary is purely an accident of his surroundings.” At this moment Mr. Cringle tapped at the door and walked into the room. “I hope I see you ro-bust, gentlemen? And how do you like this village of ours, Mr. Trender?” “It’s dirty after Winton,” said I. “Ah,” he said, condescendingly; “the centers of such enormous forces must naturally rise some dust. It’s a proud thing, sir, to contribit one’s peck to the total. I feel it in my little corner here.” “Why,” said I, “you surprise me, Mr. Cringle. I’m only an ignorant country lad, of course; but it seems to me you are quite a remarkable figure.” He gave an extra twist to his mustache and sniggered comfortably. “Well,” he said, “it is not for me to contradict you--eh, Mr. Straw?” “Certainly not,” said Duke; “why, you are famous for your deeds.” “Very good, Mr. Straw, and perhaps, as you kindly mean it in the double sense. You mightn’t think it, but it wants some knowledge of the law’s mazes to turn a rough draft into a hold-fast agreement or indenture.” “And you can do that?” “I flatter myself, Mr. Trender, that it’ll want a microscoptic eye to find flaws in my phraseology.” He thrust back his head and expanded his chest. “But I’m overlooking my errand,” said he. “The young lady, as has called before, Mr. Straw, rung me down just now for a message to you.” “Oh, what was it?” “She wanted to know if you was game for a walk and she’d be waiting under the market till half after nine.” “Very well,” and Mr. Cringle took himself off. “It’s Dolly Mellison,” said Duke to me. “We often go for a Sunday tramp together.” “Well, don’t stop for me, if you want to go.” “We’ll both go--why not?” “Oh, not for anything. Fancy my intruding myself on her.” “I’ll answer she’ll not object,” said my companion, and again I was half conscious of something unusual in his tone. “But you might,” said I. “Not a bit of it. Why should I? We’re not betrothed, you know.” He answered with a laugh, and pointed, or seemed to point at his twisted lower limbs. “You wouldn’t believe me, would you, if I told you she expects you?” he added. “Oh, very well,” said I, “if you put it in that way.”