He was good-looking, with a
long, heavy face and quick, dark eyes. His glance at Sutton was swift, a
start, a recognition, and a withdrawal, into heavy neutrality.
'How are yer, Dan?' he said, scarcely troubling to speak.
'Are yer, George?' replied Sutton, hanging back. 'My nephew, Dan Berry.
Give us Red Seal, George.'
The publican nodded to the younger man, and set the glasses on the bar.
He pushed forward the two glasses, then leaned back in the dark corner
behind the door, his arms folded, evidently preferring to get back from
the watchful eyes of the nephew.
'--'s luck,' said Sutton.
The publican nodded in acknowledgement. Sutton and his nephew drank.
'Why the hell don't you get that road mended in Cinder Hill--,' said
Sutton fiercely, pushing back his driver's cap and showing his short-cut,
bristling hair.
'They can't find it in their hearts to pull it up,' replied the publican,
laconically.
'Find in their hearts! They want settin' in barrows an' runnin' up an'
down it till they cried for mercy.'
Sutton put down his glass. The publican renewed it with a sure hand, at
ease in whatsoever he did. Then he leaned back against the bar. He wore
no coat. He stood with arms folded, his chin on his chest, his long
moustache hanging. His back was round and slack, so that the lower part
of his abdomen stuck forward, though he was not stout. His cheek was
healthy, brown-red, and he was muscular.
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