There was no maybe in the matter, judging from the number of slices of bread and butter and hard-boiled plovers’ eggs the lads consumed.
Over the meal the question of the draining was discussed sympathetically.
“No fish,” said Dick.
“No decoy,” said Tom.
“No plovers’ eggs,” said Dave.
“No rabbiting,” said Dick.
“No eeling,” said Tom.
“No nothing,” said Dave. “Hey bud it’ll be a sad job when it’s done. But it arn’t done yet, lads, eh?”
“No, it isn’t done yet,” said Dick. “I say, where’s John Warren? I haven’t seen him for months.”
“I hev,” said Dave. “He’s a breaking his heart, lads, about big drain. Comes over to see me and smoke his pipe. It’ll ’bout kill him if his rabbud-warren is took awaya. Bud dree-ern ar’n’t done yet, lads, eh?”