“You told me you were not particular as to weather, and I thought—”
“Ha, ha! How should such as me get on, if we was particular as to weather? We must take it as it comes, and make the best of it. There’s something good in all weathers. If it don’t happen to be good for my work to-day, it’s good for some other man’s to-day, and will come round to me to-morrow. We must all live.”
“Pray shake hands,” said Mr. Traveller.
“Take care, sir,” was the Tinker’s caution, as he reached up his hand in surprise; “the black comes off.”
“I am glad of it,” said Mr. Traveller. “I have been for several hours among other black that does not come off.”
“You are speaking of Tom in there?”
“Yes.”
“Well now,” said the Tinker, blowing the dust off his job: which was finished. “Ain’t it enough to disgust a pig, if he could give his mind to it?”
“If he could give his mind to it,” returned the other, smiling, “the probability is that he wouldn’t be a pig.”
“There you clench the nail,” returned the Tinker. “Then what’s to be said for Tom?”