“I begin to think so too, sir. And there’s Joe saying, ‘I told you so,’ over and over to himself, though he won’t say it out like a man.”
Joe answered only with another grin.
“I tell you what it is, Harry,” I said—“you must come again on Monday. And on your way home, just look in and tell Joe’s mother that I have kept him over to-morrow. The change will do him good.”
“No, sir, that can’t he. I haven’t got a clean shirt.”
“You can have a shirt of mine,” I said. “But I’m afraid you’ll want your Sunday clothes.”
“I’ll bring them for you, Joe—before you’re up,” interposed Harry. “And then you can go to church with Aggy Coombes, you know.”
Here was just what I wanted.
“Hold your tongue, Harry,” said Joe angrily. “You’re talking of what you don’t know anything about.”
“Well, Joe, I ben’t a fool, if I ben’t so religious as you be. You ben’t a bad fellow, though you be a Methodist, and I ben’t a fool, though I be Harry Cobb.”
“What do you mean, Harry? Do hold your tongue.”