his voice had a certain expressive
and even authoritative drawl in it.

"No supplies to-day, my good people," he said, affecting to suppose
Ringfield a customer. "Call to-morrow, or--ah--the next day. Sorry to
inconvenience you, but I've had to take a few hours off, writing
letters to the Old Country, asking about my remittance and so forth.
So I can't attend to business."

In these polite if slightly satirical cadences there was the element of
superiority; the woman and the girl faded away, while Ringfield hardly
knew how to proceed.

"I have come over just for a chat," he finally said, "if you are not
too much engaged. I have a good deal of time on my hands, and I'm
trying to get to know the people around. I am speaking to Mr. Crabbe,
I think?"

"You are not sure, eh? Want to apologize for calling me a low fellow
to mine host Poussette, I expect! Well, come in and have your chat.
I'm not much in favour of clergymen, but then--you're only a Methodist,
I hear. You don't count."

He shut the door, after piloting the other in, and led the way into a
sort of dining and living room, in the middle of which was a long,
narrow table covered with white oilcloth, graced by a monster bouquet
of wild-flowers, grasses and ferns at the end; at the other end was a
tumbler and a bottle and Ringfield saw clearly enough that it held
whisky. Yet he did not comprehend that Crabbe was drunk, while the
bold, blue eyes, the erect stature and the loud voice did not make a
single suspicion. Indeed, surprise and pity worked in him a kind of
false modesty.

"I certainly should never have used that expression. My defence is,
that Poussette, though a good fellow, is rough, and difficult to
impress in English, you understand, especially when he is about
half-tipsy himself!"

Looking around, the sight of faded photographs of English scenes on the
wall, of a large lithograph of Tennyson and of many well-bound books
and other evidences of refinement, led Ringfield to say, in vague
apology, "If I had known----"

"Known what?" said Crabbe in loud, dictatorial, dangerous tones, all
shiftiness gone. "That I was a gentleman, eh? Well, gentle is as
gentle does, I suppose, and I've never scored anywhere, so here I am,
here I _am_, Ringfield (bringing his hand down on the table) that's
your name, I believe--and I've not worn so badly all these years. From
Oxford to Manitoba; then robbed and ruined by a shark of a farming
agent, damn h