“Crikey!” Jake inhaled more cigarette smoke. “’Seems to me our potty little trade ain’t in it. I move that we both go in for the loocrative profession of diggin’.”
“Mumf—mumf—muff—muff.” The ham had conquered Tresco’s speech.
“Jes’ so. That’s what I think, boss.”
Benjamin gave a gulp. “I won’t take you,” he said, as plainly as possible.
“Oh, you won’t?”
“I won’t.”
“Then, suppose I go on my own hook, eh?”
“You’ve got to stop and look after this shop. You’re apprenticed to me.”
“Oh, indeed!”
“If a man chooses to spend a little holiday in the bush, is his apprentice to suppose his agreement’s cancelled? Not a bit of it.”