“Some on ’em’s sure to get knocked off,” growled Ike. “Who’s agoin’ to pick?”
“He is,” said Mr Brownsmith shortly.
“Then you don’t want me no more?”
“Not at present.”
“Then I may go on with my planting?”
“Yes.”
“Ho!”
I could not help feeling amused at the way in which this conversation was carried on, and the heavy clumsy manner adopted by Ike in going away.
“There you are, Grant,” said Old Brownsmith, “plenty of apples. What do you say—can you go up the ladder safely and pick them?”
“Oh yes, sir!” I cried.