“Mebbe. Few like,” said Dave in the slow way of a man who seldom speaks.
“Wuph! wuph!” came from the boat.
“What! Chip, boy! how are you?” cried Dick, patting the dog, which seemed to go half mad with delight at having someone to make a fuss over him, and then rushed to Tom to collect a few more friendly pats and words.
“Shall we get in, Dave?” cried Tom.
“Get in, lad! Why, what for?”
“Now, Dave, don’t go on like that,” cried Dick impatiently. “Let’s get on, there’s a good fellow. I do want to see you work the decoy.”
“Oh, you don’t care for that! ’Sides, I want to go to Hickathrift’s to see his dunky pigs.”
“Nonsense! What do you want to see the dunks for?”
“Thinking o’ keeping a pig o’ my own out thar, lads. It’s rayther lonesome at times; and,” he added quite seriously, “a pig would be company.”
The boys looked at one another and smothered a laugh for fear of giving offence.