I noticed about this time that Sir Francis used to talk a good deal to Shock, and by and by I found from Ike that the boy was going regularly to an evening-school, and altering a great deal for the better. Unfortunately, Ike, with whom he lodged, was not improving, as I had several opportunities of observing, and one day I took him to task about it.
“I know the excuse you have, Ike,” I said, “that habit you got into when going backwards and forwards to the market; but when you had settled down here in a gentleman’s garden, I should have thought that you would have given it up.”
“Ah, yes,” he said, as he drove in his spade. “You’re a gent, you see, and I’m only a workman.”
“I’m going to be a workman too, Ike,” I said.
“Ay, but not a digger like me. They don’t set me to prune, and thin grapes, and mind chyce flowers. I’m not like you.”
“It does not matter what any one is, Ike,” I said. “You ought to turn over a new leaf and keep away from the public-house.”
“True,” he said, smashing a clod; “and I do turn over a noo leaf, but it will turn itself back.”
“Nonsense!” I said. “You are sharp enough on Shock’s failings, and you tell me of mine. Why don’t you attend to your own?”
“Look here, young gent,” he cried sharply, “do you want to quarrel just because I like a drop now and then?”
“Quarrel! No, Ike. I tell you because I don’t want to see you discharged.”