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‘You look very well, Mr. Barkis,’ I said, thinking he would
like to know it.
Mr. Barkis rubbed his cheek with his cuff, and then
looked at his cuff as if he expected to find some of the bloom
upon it; but made no other acknowledgement of the com-
pliment.
‘I gave your message, Mr. Barkis,’ I said: ‘I wrote to Peg-
gotty.’
‘Ah!’ said Mr. Barkis.
Mr. Barkis seemed gruff, and answered drily.
‘Wasn’t it right, Mr. Barkis?’ I asked, after a little hesita-
tion.
‘Why, no,’ said Mr. Barkis.
‘Not the message?’
‘The message was right enough, perhaps,’ said Mr. Bar-
kis; ‘but it come to an end there.’
Not understanding what he meant, I repeated inquisi-
tively: ‘Came to an end, Mr. Barkis?’
‘Nothing come of it,’ he explained, looking at me side-
ways. ‘No answer.’
‘There was an answer expected, was there, Mr. Barkis?’
said I, opening my eyes. For this was a new light to me.
‘When a man says he’s willin’,’ said Mr. Barkis, turning
his glance slowly on me again, ‘it’s as much as to say, that
man’s a-waitin’ for a answer.’
‘Well, Mr. Barkis?’
‘Well,’ said Mr. Barkis, carrying his eyes back to his
horse’s ears; ‘that man’s been a-waitin’ for a answer ever
since.’