The walls were smeared with green vegetation; the iron gate creaked
heavily with rust. On the roof the stonecrop flourished, and the
swallows had built their nests about the chimneys.
Indoors it was as bad. Rich papers hung and rotted from the walls;
rats scampered about the floors overhead; a smell of damp and
mouldiness pervaded every room.
"Deary me, sir!" said Caleb in despair, "I'd no idee 'twas as bad as
this, or I wou'dn' have mentioned the place to 'ee."
An old barrel stood on end before the French-window of the
drawing-room. Mr. Fogo seated himself on this, and gazed
meditatively out on the mellow glory of the evening.
"Caleb," he said very quietly, after a while, "I think I shall take
this house."
"You will, sir?"
"I fancy there will be no difficulty in arranging about the rent.
And now I want to speak with you on another question. You are a
single man, you say. Have you any employment?"
"Why, sir, I mostly picks up my livin' on the say, on'y I thought as
how I'd like a spell ashore for a change; but the end o' that you saw
for yourself this very a'ternoon."
"Do you think that for a pound a week you could look after me?"
"I'd like the chance."
"That would exclude your food and clothes."
Caleb hesitated for a moment, and then said, with Trojan
independence--
"You beant' a-goin' to rig me out in a yaller weskit an'
small-clothes wi' a stripe down the leg, by any chance?"
"I was proposing that you should dress exactly as you do at present.
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