"Jacob Forest, sir; yes, sir. You don't mean _William Forest_, perhaps, sir?" answered the waiter, gently whisking his napkin like a horse's tail, and with an air of patronage in his tone, as though he would say: "I am very well aware you have made a mistake, so I do not hesitate to own it."
"No, I don't mean William Forest, nor yet Nebuchadneser Forest, nor Beelzebub Forest, if those names happen to run in the family," rejoined Derrick impatiently. "I mean simply Jacob Forest."
"Beg pardon, sir, I'm sure, sir. But such an exceedingly old person, and so seldom inquired after; whereas, you see, William, he's a boat or two to let; and if you are anything in the shell or fossil line, he's quite an authority.--Mr Jacob's cottage, sir? Well, sir, the fact is, he has not lived in what you call a cottage for a long time. He has had a snug little house of his own, ever since my Lady Lisgard----But you know all about that story, I dare say, sir?"
"Yes, yes," answered Derrick drily; for the very name of Lisgard had grown distasteful to him, and particularly in connection with his intended wife. "I know that Jacob's daughter has a very kind mistress--very; in fact, that she will never part with such a treasure of a waiting-maid, if she can help it. But let us get on to the house, if you please, for I want to call there to-night, and it is even now growing rather dark."
"Yes, sir; it is, sir. I am sorry that the dinner was so unavoidably delayed. The last train and the last coach having come in, we did not expect any more gentry this afternoon, or would have made preparation. But the fact is, sir, there is no hurry with respect to Mr Forest. You will find him abed now, and you will find him no more than that two hours hence, for poor old Jacob is bed-_ridden_. Very cheerful though, I hear, and would like a chat and a glass of grog with any gentleman like yourself, no matter what time it was; and if you will permit me to advise, you will wait till the moon is up; for the path across the Cove is not easy to find after dusk; and then there's the churchyard, which, somehow, one always dislikes--at least I know _I_ do--to pass through latish, unless one can see one's way pretty well; and after that, there's a bit of a spinney before you get to the old man's house; so although you can see it at top of the hill yonder from this window--there it is, the white house with a thatched roof--you may judge that it is a good long step."