THE MAN WHO GREW VEGETABLE MARROWS
a young man, a man who thought all women good, and most of them beautiful. But you are a man of middle age, a doctor, a man who knows the folly and the vanity of most things in this life of ours. Well, well, we are neighbors. I beg of you to accept and present to your excellent sister my best marrow.”
He stooped, and with a flourish produced an immense specimen of the tribe, which I duly accepted in the spirit in which it was offered.
“Indeed,” said the little man cheerfully, “this has not been a wasted morning. I have made the acquaintance of a man who in some ways resembles my far-off friend. By the way, I should like to ask you a question. You doubtless know every one in this tiny village. Who is the young man with the very dark hair and eyes, and the handsome face. He walks with his head flung back, and an easy smile on his lips?”
The description left me in no doubt.
“That must be Captain Ralph Paton,” I said slowly.
“I have not seen him about here before?’
“No, he has not been here for some time. But he is the son—adopted son, rather—of Mr. Ackroyd of Fernly Park.”
My neighbor made a slight gesture of impatience.
“Of course, I should have guessed. Mr. Ackroyd spoke of him many times.”
“You know Mr. Ackroyd?” I said, slightly surprised.
“Mr. Ackroyd knew me in London—when I was at work there. I have asked him to say nothing of my profession down here.”
[23]
