"If anybody will tell me how to turn grown wheat into wholesome wheat
I'll take it back with pleasure. But it can't be done."

Henchard was not to be drawn again. Having said this, he sat down.




6.


Now the group outside the window had within the last few minutes been
reinforced by new arrivals, some of them respectable shopkeepers and
their assistants, who had come out for a whiff of air after putting up
the shutters for the night; some of them of a lower class. Distinct from
either there appeared a stranger--a young man of remarkably pleasant
aspect--who carried in his hand a carpet-bag of the smart floral pattern
prevalent in such articles at that time.

He was ruddy and of a fair countenance, bright-eyed, and slight in
build. He might possibly have passed by without stopping at all, or at
most for half a minute to glance in at the scene, had not his advent
coincided with the discussion on corn and bread, in which event this
history had never been enacted. But the subject seemed to arrest him,
and he whispered some inquiries of the other bystanders, and remained
listening.

When he heard Henchard's closing words, "It can't be done," he smiled
impulsively, drew out his pocketbook, and wrote down a few words by