ye know there was swine fever at Pashell's? There be. It'll 'ave to be in brick.'
'Yes,' said Midmore politely.
'I've bin at your aunt that was, plenty times about it. I don't say she wasn't a just woman, but she didn't read the lease same way I did. I be used to bein' put upon, but there's no doing any longer 'thout that pig-pound.'
'When would you like it?' Midmore asked. It seemed the easiest road to take.
'Any time or other suits me, I reckon. He ain't thrivin' where he is, an' I paid eighteen shillin' for him.' He crossed his hands on his stick and gave no further sign of life.
'Is that all?' Midmore stammered.
'All now—excep''—he glanced fretfully at the table beside him—'excep' my usuals. Where's that Rhoda?'
Midmore rang the bell. Rhoda came in with a bottle and a glass. The old man helped himself to four stiff fingers, rose in one piece, and stumped out. At the door he cried ferociously: 'Don't suppose it's any odds to you whether I'm drowned or not, but them floodgates want a wheel and winch, they do. I be too old for liftin' 'em with the bar—my time o' life.'
'Good riddance if 'e was drowned,' said Rhoda. 'But don't you mind him. He's only amusin' himself. Your pore dear auntie used to give 'im 'is usual—'tisn't the whisky you drink—an' send 'im about 'is business.'
'I see. Now, is a pig-pound the same thing as a pig-sty?'
