one day of the week, forming a little
world of leggings, switches, and sample-bags; men of extensive stomachs,
sloping like mountain sides; men whose heads in walking swayed as the
trees in November gales; who in conversing varied their attitudes much,
lowering themselves by spreading their knees, and thrusting their hands
into the pockets of remote inner jackets. Their faces radiated tropical
warmth; for though when at home their countenances varied with the
seasons, their market-faces all the year round were glowing little
fires.

All over-clothes here were worn as if they were an inconvenience, a
hampering necessity. Some men were well dressed; but the majority were
careless in that respect, appearing in suits which were historical
records of their wearer's deeds, sun-scorchings, and daily struggles for
many years past. Yet many carried ruffled cheque-books in their pockets
which regulated at the bank hard by a balance of never less than four
figures. In fact, what these gibbous human shapes specially represented
was ready money--money insistently ready--not ready next year like
a nobleman's--often not merely ready at the bank like a professional
man's, but ready in their large plump hands.

It happened that to-day there rose in the midst of them all two or
three tall apple-trees standing as if they grew on the spot; till it was
perceived that they were held by men from the cider-districts who came
here to sell them, bringing the clay of their county on their boots.
Elizabeth-Jane, who had often observed them, said, "I wonder if the same
trees come every week?"

"What trees?" said Lucetta, absorbed in watching for Henchard.

Elizabeth replied vaguely, for an incident checked her. Behind one of
the trees stood Farfrae, briskly discussing a sample-bag with a farmer.
Henchard had come up, accidentally encountering the young man, whose
face seemed to inquire, "Do we speak to each other?"

She saw her stepfather throw a shine into his eye which answered "No!"
Elizabeth-Jane sighed.

"Are you particularly interested in anybody out there?" said Lucetta.

"O, no," said her companion, a quick red shooting over her face.

Luckily Farfrae's figure was immediately covered by the apple-tree.

Lucetta looked hard at her. "Quite sure?" she said.

"O yes," said Elizabeth-Jane.

Again Lucetta looked out. "They are all farmers, I suppose?" she said.

"No. There's Mr. Bulge--he's a wine merchant; there's Benjamin
Brownle