‘But why can’t you come?’ he asked good-naturedly, slapping his hat against his leg.
‘I have some work that’ll take me nearly all day.’
‘But you’ve no business to work on a bank holiday. I’m not sure as it ain’t breakin’ the law.’
He laughed, and Emma did her best to show a smile. But she said nothing.
‘But you will come, now? You can lose just the one day? It’ll do you a power o’ good. You’ll work all the better on Tuesday, now see if you don’t. Why, it ain’t worth livin’, never to get a holiday.’
‘I’m very sorry. It was very kind indeed of you to think of it, Mr. Dabbs. I really can’t come.’
He went again to the window, and thence to the children’s bedside. He bent a little and watched them breathing.
‘Bertie’s growin’ a fine little lad.’
‘Yes, indeed, he is.’
‘He’ll have to go to school soon, I s’pose—I’m afraid he gives you a good deal of trouble, that is, I mean—you know how I mean it.’