Jack rode on, thinking about it.
"What's a remittance man, really, Tom?"
"A waster. A useless bird shipped out here to be kept south o' the line, because he's a disgrace to England. And his family soothes their conscience by sending him so much a month, which they call his remittance, 'stead o' letting him starve, or work. Like Rackett. Plenty o' money sent out to him to stink on."
"Why don't you like Rackett?"
"I fairly despise him, an' his money. He's absolutely useless baggage, rotting life away. I can't abear to see him about. Old George gave me the tip he was leaving our place, else I'd never have gone and left him loose there."
"He is no harm."
"How do you know? If be hasn't got a disease of the body, he's got a disease of the soul."
"What disease?"
"Dunno."
"Does he take drugs?"