Jack stared at him in astonishment.
“Is it you, Reddy?” he asked. “When did you get out?”
“Faith,” said Reddy, his eyes twinkling, “it sounds like I’d been in the workhouse an’ me niver arrested in me life! I’ve throwed up me job.”
“Throwed up your job?”
“Since when have ye turned into an echo?” demanded Reddy.
Jack laughed.
“I was too surprised t’ say anything original. What was the trouble?”
“I couldn’t stand it—I couldn’t stand them vermin, nor washin’ dishes nor makin’ beds fer ’em—nor I couldn’t stand that varmint of a cook. He got smart,” went on Reddy, growing angry again at thought of it, “so I jest upper-cut him an’ throwed some dish water on him an’ come away.”
“But,” protested Jack, “what will Allan say?”
“I don’t care what he says,” retorted Reddy, doggedly. “I ain’t needed in there—them fellers is like a flock of sheep—feed ’em an’ water ’em an’ they’ll never give any trouble. Besides, where is Allan—an’ where’s Stanley? Is there trouble somewheres, Jack?”