exactly what he had cautioned him, the farmer, against a moment before,
struck him as being the finest example of poetic justice he had ever
heard of, and he signalized his appreciation of the same by nearly
dying of apoplexy.

The marker expressed an opinion that Farnie had been and gone and done
it.

''Ere,' he said, inserting a finger in the cut to display its
dimensions. 'Look 'ere. This'll mean a noo cloth, young feller me lad.
That's wot this'll mean. That'll be three pound we will trouble you
for, if _you_ please.'

Farnie produced his sole remaining sovereign.

'All I've got,' he said. 'I'll leave my name and address.'

'Don't you trouble, young feller me lad,' said the marker, who appeared
to be a very aggressive and unpleasant sort of character altogether,
with meaning, 'I know yer name and I knows yer address. Today fortnight
at the very latest, if _you_ please. You don't want me to 'ave to
go to your master about it, now, do yer? What say? No. Ve' well then.
Today fortnight is the time, and you remember it.'

What was left of Farnie then rode slowly back to Beckford. Why he went
to Monk on his return probably he could not have explained himself. But
he did go, and, having told his story in full, wound up by asking for a
loan of two pounds. Monk's first impulse was to refer him back to a
previous interview, when matters had been the other way about, that
small affair of the pound on the second morning of the term. Then there