"No, sir."

"No," he said reflectively. "You wouldn't--not at Stimcoe's.
Not, mind you, that I believe in coddling. Nobody ever coddled
Nelson, and yet what happened?" He shut one eye, put his pencil to
it for an imaginary telescope, and took a nautical survey of the back
premises.

"That rain-shute's out of order," he said, addressing Captain Coffin.
"Give me a shilling to put it right for you, and you'll save yourself
a lot of trouble."

"That's the landlord's affair," answered Captain Coffin, "and I'm not
paying you fippence an' hour to talk.

"But, sir," I put in, "if you walk to Plymouth you must pass the
house where I live--a low-roofed house about three miles this side of
St. Germans village, with a thatch on it, and windows opening right
on the road, and 'Minden Cottage' painted over the door."

"Know it? Bless my soul, to be sure I know it! Why, the last time
but one I passed that way, taking note that one of the window-hinges
was out of gear, I knocked and asked leave to repair it. A lady with
side-curls opened the door, and after the job was done took me into
the parlour an' gave me a jugful of cider over and above the sixpence
charged. I believe she'd have made it a shillin', too, only when I
told her she lived in a very pretty house, and asked if she owned it
or rented it, she turned very stiff in her manner. Touchy as tinder
she was; and if that comes of being a lady, I'm glad my Martha's more
sociable."