“No; it’s left to M‘Pherson. He is a privileged warder, and does pretty much as he likes in respect to the working arrangements.”
“Good,” muttered Peace to himself. “A nod’s as good as a wink to a blind horse. I shall profit by your advice.”
So when he next caught sight of the head warder going his rounds, he touched his cap respectfully, and said—
“I beg your pardon, sir, but can I have a word with you?”
“What is it, my man?” inquired his janitor.
“When is it likely for me to do my work in one of the wards?”
“When? Well, I don’t knew as I can tell you just now. Do you know any trade? Can you work with the thread and needle, or what?”
“I am a carver and gilder by trade, but can do smith’s work as well, and know something about weaving.”
“We’ll find you a billet shortly, and put you through your facings. Go back to your cell; I’ll see what can be done.”
“I thank you, sir, I’m much obliged—very much obliged,” cried Peace, again touching his cap.