nearly so bad as he had feared; the standpipe at the corner excited his liveliest commendation.
"We ought to be able to amuse ourselves quite well in a day or two, and get a fairly decent game by next week," he said. "What a glorious place this is! I wouldn't have believed that anything so perfect could be—within a walk of Baker Street."
Lucilla and Jane had fallen back and were talking earnestly.
"Bother Baker Street!" said Mr. Rochester, but he said it to himself. Aloud he said, "Rather a long walk, isn't it?"
"It was," said Mr. Dix—"a very long walk indeed. I lost my way twice, which made it longer. And I couldn't be sure that I hadn't lost everything else as well, which made it longer still. You see," he explained, before Mr. Rochester had time to more than half feel that he had been snubbed, and that he rather deserved it, "you see, I was walking down to interview Miss Quested and Miss Craye about the situation of gardener, and it would have been rather terrible to lose that chance, wouldn't it? I've been out of work for months."
The two men were walking side by side.
"Gardening's your special work then?"
"It's my trade now. It wasn't before the war. But my people had a garden. I know all about it right enough."
Now this pleased Mr. Rochester, because it seemed to admit that he had some claim to have explanations offered to him, and he said:
"I've been at loose ends myself since the war."
"Ah, yes," said Mr. Dix, "but you've got something to tie your loose ends to. I've been absolutely up against it. Nothing but unemployment allowance."
"Now why," Mr. Rochester wondered, "does he tell me this?"
"My people are in New Zealand," Dix went on. "I've had rather a stiff time, in a small way, you know. However, that's all right. And I say . . ." he hesitated. "You're probably worrying yourself, and thinking that I'm a waster,
