"Perhaps you had better ask him," said Walter. "I should wish you to hear
both sides."
"That is like you," said Bartley; "but where does the shoe pinch, in
your opinion?"
"Well, he tells me, in sober earnest, that he loses money by it as it is;
but when he is drunk he tells his boon companions he has made seven
thousand pounds here. He has one or two grass fields that want draining,
but I offer him the pipes; he has only got to lay them and cut the
drains. My opinion is that he is the slave of habit; he is so used to
make an unfair profit out of these acres that he can not break himself of
it and be content with a fair one."
"I dare say you have hit it," said Bartley. "Well, I am fond of farming;
but I don't live by it, and a moderate profit would content me."
Walter said nothing. The truth is, he did not want to let the farm
to Bartley.
Bartley saw this, and drew Mary aside.
"Should not you like to come here, my child?"
"Yes, papa, if you wish it; and you know it's dear Mr. Hope's
birth-place.
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