He emerged from his pool glowing, the turf feeling like velvet beneath his feet, a fine light in his eyes.

“Yes,” he said, throwing out his arms in a lordly stretch of physical well-being, “it might be a magnificent thing—­mere strong living.  This is magnificent.”

CHAPTER XXXVI

BY THE ROADSIDE EVERYWHERE

His breakfast and the talk over it with Penzance seemed good things.  It suddenly had become worth while to discuss the approaching hop harvest and the yearly influx of the hop pickers from London.  Yesterday the subject had appeared discouraging enough.  The great hop gardens of the estate had been in times past its most prolific source of agricultural revenue and the boast and wonder of the hop-growing county.  The neglect and scant food of the lean years had cost them their reputation.  Each season they had needed smaller bands of “hoppers,” and their standard had been lowered.  It had been his habit to think of them gloomily, as of hopeless and irretrievable loss.  Because this morning, for a remote reason, the pulse of life beat strong in him he was taking a new view.  Might not study of the subject, constant attention and the application of all available resource to one end produce appreciable results?  The idea presented itself in the form of a thing worth thinking of.

“It would provide an outlook and give one work to do,” he put it to his companion.  “To have a roof over one’s head, a sound body, and work to do, is not so bad.  Such things form the whole of G. Selden’s cheerful aim.  His spirit is alight within me.  I will walk over and talk to Bolter.”

Bolter was a farmer whose struggle to make ends meet was almost too much for him.  Holdings whose owners, either through neglect or lack of money, have failed to do their duty as landlords in the matter of repairs of farmhouses, outbuildings, fences, and other things, gradually fall into poor hands.  Resourceful and prosperous farmers do not care to hold lands under unprosperous landlords.  There were farms lying vacant on the Mount Dunstan estate, there were others whose tenants were uncertain rent payers or slipshod workers or dishonest in small ways.  Waste or sale of the fertiliser which should have been given to the soil as its due, neglect in the case of things whose decay meant depreciation of property and expense to the landlord, were dishonesties.  But Mount Dunstan knew that if he turned out Thorn and Fittle, whom no watching could wholly frustrate in their tricks, Under Mount Farm and Oakfield Rise would stand empty for many a year.  But for his poverty Bolter would have been a good tenant enough.  He was in trouble now because, though his hops promised well, he faced difficulties in the matter of “pickers.”  Last year he had not been able to pay satisfactory prices in return for labour, and as a result the prospect of securing good workers was an unpromising one.