“It was so heavy, Grant. Leverage, my boy. A strong man can hardly hold a ladder if he gets it off the balance.”
“Will it cost much to—”
“It was an old ladder, Grant, and I’m not sorry it is broken; for there was a bad crack there, I see, covered over by the paint. We might have had a nasty accident. It will do now for the low trees. Look here.”
He led me into the shed where the ladders hung, and showed me the broken ladder, neatly sawn off at the top, and thinned down a little, and trimmed off with a spokeshave, while a pot of lead-coloured paint and a brush stood by with which the old gentleman had been going over the freshly-cut wood.
“My job,” he said quietly. “Dry by to-morrow. You were quite right to tell me.”
Then there was a pause.
“How many apples does that make you’ve had to-day?” he said, suddenly.
“Apples, sir? Oh! that was the first.”
“Humph!” he ejaculated, looking at me sharply. “And so you’ve been having a set-to with Shock, eh?”
“Yes, sir,” I said in an aggrieved tone; “he—”