"Wery well, George, then I goes; but mind yer, it's 'cause yer wishes me."
So saying, Bill curled himself up in the hay, and George soon heard by his regular breathing that he was sound asleep.
The next morning, before anyone was stirring, they went down into the yard, as was their custom on Sunday mornings, for a good wash, stripping to the waist and taking it by turns to pump over each other. Bill had at first protested against the fashion, saying as he did very well and did not see no use in it; but seeing that George really enjoyed it he followed his example. After a morning or two, indeed, and with the aid of a piece of soap which George had bought, Bill got himself so bright and shiny as to excite much sarcastic comment and remark from his former companions, which led to more than one pugilistic encounter.
That morning George remained behind in the loft for a minute or two after Bill had run down, attired only in his trousers. When Bill went up the ladder after his ablutions he began hunting about in the hay.
"What are you up to, Bill?"
"Blest if I can find my shirt. Here's two of yourn knocking about, but I can't see where's mine, nor my jacket neither."
"It's no use your looking, Bill, for you won't find them, and even if you found them you couldn't put 'em on. I have torn them up."
"Torn up my jacket!" Bill exclaimed in consternation. "What lark are yer up to now, George?"
"No lark at all. We are going together to work to-morrow, and you could not go as you were; so you put on that shirt and those things," and he threw over the clothes he had procured the day before.
Bill looked in astonishment.