'
'Nay, nay, Tookey,' said Ben Winthrop. 'We'll pay you your share to
keep out of it- that's what we'll do. There's things folks 'ud pay
to be rid on, besides varmin.'
'Come, come,' said the landlord, who felt that paying people for
their absence was a principle dangerous to society; 'a joke's a
joke. We're all good friends here, I hope. We must give and take.
You're both right and you're both wrong, as I say. I agree wi' Mr
Macey here, as there's two opinions; and if mine was asked, I should
say they're both right. Tookey's right and Winthrop's right, and
they've only got to split the difference and make themselves even.'
The farrier was puffing his pipe rather fiercely, in some
contempt at this trivial discussion. He had no ear for music
himself, and never went to church, as being of the medical profession,
and likely to be in requisition for delicate cows. But the butcher,
having music in his soul, had listened with a divided desire for
Tookey's defeat, and for the preservation of the peace.
'To be sure,' he said, following up the landlord's conciliatory
view, 'we're fond of our old clerk; it's nat'ral, and him used to be
such a singer, and got a brother as is known for the first fiddler
in this countryside. Eh, it's a pity but what Solomon lived in our
village, and could give us a tune when we liked; eh, Mr Macey? I'd
keep him in liver and lights for nothing- that I would.
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