“Thank you, master, I’ll come, and I daresay Sarah will, though the old woman won’t like it, I know.”
Nor, indeed, did John himself; for there is no man more proud and independent in his own way than an English workman. Indeed, he would have absolutely refused to bring his wife, but he did not like to hurt the feelings of his old master, who had evidently wished to do him a service.
“By the bye, John,” his master said, as he tamed to leave the yard, “rumly enough the new gaffer’s name is the same as yours, John Holl.”
“Is it now?” said John; “well, that is rum! Not that Holl is an uncommon name, or John either, for that matter; but to see it on our carts will be rum. Lor, how my mates will chaff me, to be sure. I know what it will be—Hullo, John, set up on your own account, old man? I say, John, stole a cart? Lor bless me, I shall never hear the end of it,” and John went off, laughing to himself.
John had, as he anticipated, some trouble with Sarah; but he had put the case to her somewhat diplomatically, and said that the new gaffer’s wife wanted to know the story of James being found and turning out a rich man, and then he had turned her attention off by telling her that the new gaffer’s name was John Holl “Won’t it be a rum start, Sarah, to see one’s own name on the carts?” Sarah was greatly amused at the idea, and when the appointed time came made no objection to starting with her husband for Chelsea.
“Lor, John, what a time it is sin’ you and me went out walking together on a week day. If you do take a holiday, which ain’t often, we have the children with us.”
“It do seem strange like, lass. Lor, what a shapely young girl you were when I took my first walk with you. Do you remember it, mother?”
“Ay, John,” Sarah said, with a softening of her voice, “I ain’t likely to forget that while I live. Well, John, I’ve been as happy as I hoped to be.”
“Ay, mother,” John said, “we’ve had no cause to grumble. If we ain’t done quite so well as we hoped then, Sairey, we’ve done as well as we could have fairly expected. Well, here we are; and I’m blest if there ain’t all the carts with their new name on them, ‘John Holl, dust contractor.’ It don’t look bad,” he said, critically, as he spelt the letters out slowly. “I wonder what the new gaffer’s like.”
“Well, John,” his old master said, coming out of the house into the yard, “come to square up, eh? How are you, Mrs. Holl?” and he went into a little outhouse, and paid John Holl his wages up to the preceding night.