Shrig brightly,
"that's werry pretty, that is--things is rosier than I 'oped, but
then, as I said afore, things is allus blackest afore the dawn.
Oakshott's Barn, eh? Ecod, now, but it sounds a nice, lonesome
place--just the sort o' place for it, a--a--capital place as you
might call it." And Mr. Shrig positively chuckled and rubbed his
chubby hands together; but all at once, he shook his head gloomily,
and glancing at Barnabas, sighed deeply. "But you--von't go, o'
course, sir?"
"Go?"
"To Oakshott's Barn, to-morrow evening?"
"Yes, of course," answered Barnabas, "the appointment is for
seven-thirty."
"Seven-thirty!" nodded Mr. Shrig, "and a werry nice time for it too!
Sunset, it'll be about--a good light and not too long to vait till
dark! Yes, seven-thirty's a werry good time for it!"
"For what?"
"V'y," said Mr. Shrig, lowering his voice suddenly, "let's say for
'it'!"
"'It,'" repeated Barnabas, staring.
"Might I jest take a peep at that theer letter, v'ere it says
seven-thirty, sir?"
"Yes," said Barnabas, pointing to a certain line of Cleone's letter,
"here it is!"
"Ah," exclaimed Mr. Shrig, nodding and rubbing his hands again,
"your eyes is good 'uns, ain't they, sir?"
"Yes.
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