“Not at work!” repeated Dennis, turning round with a downcast face. “Why isn’t he at work? Is he ill?”
Old Sally had been screwing up her lips and shaking her head solemnly ever since Tuvvy’s name had been mentioned. At Dennis’s question her face looked full of dark meaning.
“Worse nor that,” she said. “He’s had a bout. He’ll do it once too often, and get sacked. He can’t expect Master Andrew to put up with it.”
“But he couldn’t ever get such a good wheelwright as Tuvvy again, could he?” said Dennis eagerly. “Tuvvy can do so many things, and he’s so clever and quick.”
“Oh, he’s clever enough, and he’s quick enough, is Tuvvy,” agreed old Sally: “’tain’t that; but he can’t keep steady—that’s where it is. He’ll go on right enough for a bit, and then he’ll have a reg’lar break-out. It’s cruel hard on his wife and children, so it is.”
“Why does he do it?” said Dennis mournfully.
Old Sally gave a sort of low chuckle.
“Lor, Master Dennis, the men are made like that. They can’t help it.”
Dennis usually took all old Sally said for granted, considering that her knowledge of men and things must be very great, but he hesitated a little at this sweeping remark.
“They’re not all like that,” he said; “there’s Mr Hurst, and Mr Solace, and a whole lot more. Do you think Mr Solace will turn Tuvvy away this time?”