“Fifteen⁠ ⁠… thirty⁠ ⁠… fifty!” cried the other. “I don’t care how many! Order it as you please. My facts , my little facts , are the main thing⁠—that future generations should have all the biting, pricking, itching, salty little facts about our ‘wold Dorset’ that can be put together!”

“I won’t have any of your ‘facts,’ Sir, that I can’t turn into decent English. This book may carry your name, but it will have my soul between its⁠—”

He broke off abruptly. “What’s amusing you, Mr. Urquhart? By God, I will hear what’s amusing you! Have I said anything ridiculous?”