“The—blacks—sir,” said the man looking down sadly at Mark’s torn jacket.
“Sewing,” said Mark, noting the direction of the man’s eyes.
“Yes, sir—Dan—sews—best.”
“Well, I know that,” cried Mark. “What about the blacks?”
“Come again.”
“Bother the blacks!” cried Mark. “Look here, Dunn; I won’t have it. We won’t have it,” he added; “eh, Dean?”
“No,” cried Dean, sucking his pricked finger and looking very ill-humoured. “A set of black beggarly cadgers! They are getting to think they have a right to be fed. Go and start them off, Dunn. Why didn’t you do it before?”
“I did, sir, yesterday. They’ve come again.”
“Send them about their business.”
“Rather afraid—” began the man.