“You’ve done pretty badly, I think.”
“I—why? It’s natural! When a man’s more than nature he’s a devil. Be a good animal, says I, whether it’s man or woman. You, Sir, a good natural male animal; the lady there—a female un—that’s proper—as long as yer enjoy it.”
“And what then?”
“Do as th’ animals do. I watch my brats—I let ’em grow. They’re beauties, they are—sound as a young ash pole, every one. They shan’t learn to dirty themselves wi’ smirking deviltry—not if I can help it. They can be like birds, or weasels, or vipers, or squirrels, so long as they ain’t human rot, that’s what I say.”
“It’s one way of looking at things,” said Leslie.
“Ay. Look at the women looking at us. I’m something between a bull and a couple of worms stuck together, I am. See that spink!” he raised his voice for the girls to hear. “Pretty, isn’t he? What for?—And what for do you wear a fancy vest and twist your moustache. Sir! What for, at the bottom! Ha—tell a woman not to come in a wood till she can look at natural things—she might see something—Good night. Sir.”
He marched off into the darkness.
“Coarse fellow, that,” said Leslie when he had rejoined Lettie, “but he’s a character.”
“He makes you shudder,” she replied. “But yet you are interested in him. I believe he has a history.”
“He seems to lack something,” said Emily.
“I thought him rather a fine fellow,” said I.
