Magglin’s manner changed directly, and in a snivelling, whining way he began,—
“Well, I can’t help it, young gen’lemen. I’m ’bliged to go there, and nothing I can do’s good enough for her. If I give her anything, she chucks it at me, because it aren’t good enough.”
“I should think not, indeed,” said Mercer. “What decent girl’s going to listen to such a ragged scaramouche as you are?”
“Well, I can’t help it, young gen’lemen.”
“Yes, you can. Go to work like a man, and grow respectable,” I said. “I should be ashamed to idle about as you do.”
“Why, aren’t you two always idling about?”
“No. We do our work first,” I said.
“I say, Magg, here comes Bob Hopley!” cried Mercer mischievously.
The poacher gave a quick glance up the lane in the direction from which we had come, caught sight of the keeper’s velveteen coat, and shot into the copse and was gone.
“I don’t wonder at Bob thrashing him,” I said.