“You talking of having father if you were ill. Why, you’d be obliged to.”
“Nay. If I were bad I dessay I should get better if I curled up and went to sleep.”
“Send for me, Joe Daygo,” cried Mike merrily, “and I’ll bring Vince Burnet. We’ll give you a mug of water out of a tar-barrel, and make you dance with the rope’s end.”
“Nay, nay, nay! don’t you try to be funny, young Ladle.”
“Ladelle!” shouted the boy angrily.
“Oh, very well, boy. Only don’t you try to be funny: young doctor here’s best at that.”
All the same, though, the great heavy fellow broke into another fit of wooden chuckling, nodded to both, and turned to go, but back on the track by which he had come.
Vince gave Mike a merry look, and they sprang after him, and the man faced round.
“What now?”
“We’re coming out with you, Joe Daygo.”