“Heave-ho, Georgie,” he said. “Belay there and avast.”
“What is he talking about?” said Daisy.
Georgie, quite apart from his general good-nature, always strove to propitiate Mr. Quantock. He was far the most sarcastic person in Riseholme and could say sharp things straight off, whereas Georgie had to think a long time before he got a nasty edge to any remark, and then his good-nature generally forbade him to slash with it.
“He’s talking about my new clothes,” he said, “and he’s being very naughty. Any news?”
“Any news?” was the general gambit of conversation in Riseholme. It could not have been bettered, for there always was news. And there was now.
“Yes, Pepino’s gone to the station,” said Mr. Quantock. “Just like a large black crow. Waved a black hand. Bah! Why not call a release a release and have done with it? And if you don’t know—why, I’ll tell you. It’s because they’re rolling in riches. Why, I’ve calculated——”
“Yes?” said Daisy and Georgie simultaneously.
“So you’ve been calculating too?” said Mr. Quantock. “Might have a sweepstake for the one who gets nearest. I say three thousand a year.”
“Not so much,” said Georgie and Daisy again simultaneously.
“All right. But that’s no reason why I shouldn’t have a lump of sugar in my tea.”