noying, sir.

HILLCRIST. Ye-es. Ever had it?

FELLOWS. I fancy I have had a twinge, sir.

HILLCRIST. [Brightening] Have you? Where?

FELLOWS. In my cork wrist, sir.

HILLCRIST. Your what?

FELLOWS. The wrist I draw corks with.

HILLCRIST. [With a cackle] You'd have had more than a twinge if
you'd lived with my father. H'm!

FELLOWS. Excuse me, sir--Vichy water corks, in my experience, are
worse than any wine.

HILLCRIST. [Ironically] Ah! The country's not what it was, is it,
Fellows?

FELLOWS. Getting very new, sir.

HILLCRIST. [Feelingly] You're right. Has Dawker come?

FELLOWS. Not yet, sir. The Jackmans would like to see you, sir.

HILLCRIST. What about?

FELLOWS. I don't know, sir.

HILLCRIST. Well, show them in.

FELLOWS. [Going] Yes, sir.

[HILLCRIST turns his swivel chair round. The JACKMANS come in.
He, a big fellow about fifty, in a labourer's dress, with eyes
which have more in then than his tongue can express; she, a
little woman with a worn face, a bright, quick glance, and a
tongue to match.]

HILLCRIST. Good morning, Mrs. Jackman! Morning, Jackman! Haven't
seen you for a long time. What can I do?

[He draws in foot, and breath, with a sharp hiss.]

HILLCRIST. [In a down-hearted voice] We've had notice to quit,
sir.

HILLCRIST. [With emphasis] What!

JACKMAN. Got to be out this week.

MRS. J. Yes, sir, indeed.

HILLCRIST. Well, but when I sold Longmeadow and the cottages, it
was on the express understanding that there was to be no disturbance
of tenancies:

MRS. J. Yes, sir; but we've all got to go. Mrs. 'Arvey, and the
Drews, an' us, and there isn't another cottage to be had anywhere in
Deepwater.

HILLCRIST. I know; I want one for my cowman. This won't do at all.
Where do you get it from?

JACKMAN. Mr. 'Ornblower, 'imself, air. Just an hour ago. He come
round and said: "I'm sorry; I want the cottages, and you've got to
clear."

MRS. J. [Bitterly] He's no gentleman, sir; he put it so brisk. We
been there thirty years, and now we don't know what to do. So I
hope you'll excuse us coming round, sir.

HILLCRIST. I should think so, indeed! H'm! [He rises and limps
across to the fireplace on his stick. To himself] The cloven hoof.
By George! this is a breach of faith. I'll write to him, Jackman.
Confound it! I'd certainly never have sold if I'd known he was
going to do this.

MRS. J