Spencer Larson's face darkened. He really did not expect that he would lose face here.
"Who knows where this country bumpkin came from? One look and I can tell he's not a local. Otherwise, how could he not have heard of Spencer's name?" A slim girl at the side chimed in.
"Who in Preston doesn't know Young Master Larson's name?" Another person said in a flattering manner.
The bald, middle-aged chairman of Doffer textile, Samuel Zoll, snorted with disdain. "Country bumpkins! How many people can they know?"
Spencer's expression softened, but before he could say anything, Luke Yates spoke with an expressionless face, "I'm indeed not a local. I'm from the northern territory!"
"You're indeed a country bumpkin! How much knowledge can a person from the forsaken land of the north have?" Samuel laughed.
Luke raised his eyebrows, and a cold glint flashed across the depths of his eyes!
