“Did it, though?” said Dave thoughtfully. “Now, look here, lad,” he continued, taking out his tobacco-box; “some on ’em says a man shouldn’t tak’ his bit o’ opium, and that he should smoke ’bacco. I say it’s wrong. If I smoked ’bacco some night I should set my plaäce afire, ’stead o’ just rolling up a bit o’ stoof and clapping it in my mooth.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Dave,” cried Dick.
“Then I’ll tell’ee, lad. Some un got smoking his pipe in one of they stables, and set it afire.”
“No, no; some one must have set fire to the stacks.”
“Nay!” cried Dave, staring in the lad’s face with his jaw dropped.
“Yes; that was it, and father thinks it was.”
“Not one o’ the men, lad; nay, not one o’ the men!” cried Dave.
“No, but some one who doesn’t like the drain made, and that it was done out of spite.”
Dave whisked up his pole and struck with it at the water, sending it flying in all directions, and then made a stab with it as if to strike some one in the chest and drive him under water.
“Nay, nay, nay,” he cried, “no one would do owt o’ the soort, lad. Nay, nay, nay.”