“Oh, quite,” said his cousin decisively.
“Well, I will put it at three weeks,” said Mark, “and by that time I hope we shall be a couple of hundred miles farther up the country, with the ponies and the waggons and the teams of oxen all with us in travelling trim, right away in the wild country, where there’s no settlement—not a house—nothing but here and there one of the blacks’ camps—kraals, as they call them; eh, Dean?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Well, then, at the end of that time—oh, I shall make it a month—”
The man drew a deep breath.
“And then my father will have a quiet chat with the doctor and take his opinion. He always goes by Dr Robertson’s opinion, doesn’t he, Dean?”
“Always,” said his cousin.
“And then he’ll what slang people call sack you. You sailors don’t say sack, do you?”
“No, sir,” said the man sadly. “When I was in the Royal Navy we used to call it being paid off.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter,” said Mark. “Then of course when we are hundreds of miles from everywhere my father will pay you off.”