“Oh, no!” said Old Brownsmith sarcastically. “Let the baskets lie where they are. It doesn’t matter about sending to market to sell the things. You never want any wages!”
“What’s the good o’ talking to a man like that, master?” growled Ike. “You know you don’t mean it, no more’n I meant to send the sieves atop o’ young Grant here. I’m werry sorry; and a man can’t say fairer than that.”
“Go and load up then,” said Old Brownsmith. “We must risk the damaged goods.”
Ike looked hard at me and went away.
“Had you said anything to offend him, my lad?” said the old man as soon as we were alone.
“Oh! no, sir,” I cried; “we were capital friends, and he was telling me the best way to load.”
“A capital teacher!” cried the old gentleman sarcastically. “No; I don’t think he did it intentionally. If I did I’d send him about his business this very night. There!—lie down and go to sleep; it will take off the giddiness.”
I lay quite still, and as I did so Old Brownsmith seemed to swell up like the genii who came out of the sealed jar
the fisherman caught instead of fish. Then he grew cloudy and filled the room, and then there was the creaking of baskets, and I saw things clearly again. Old Brownsmith was gone, and the soft evening air came through the open window by the pots of geraniums.