“Well, I’m trying to doctor you,” said the engineer, laughing. “Once we get the fen drained, ague will begin to die out.”
“Think so, mester?”
“I am sure so.”
“Hear that, neighbour?” said Dave, looking at Hickathrift. “Think o’ the fen wi’out the shakes.”
“We can’t stop, Dave,” cried Dick; “because we’ve got to get home, for Mr Marston to walk over to the sea-bank to-night; but I’ll come over and see you to-morrow and bring you something. What would you like?”
“What you heven’t got, Mester Dick,” said the fen-man, showing his yellow teeth. “Bit of opium or a drop o’ lodolum. Nay, I don’t want you to send me owt. Neighbour Hick’thrift here’ll get me some when he goes over to market.”
Hickathrift nodded, and after a little more conversation the party returned toward the boat.
“Straänge and thick to-night, Mester Dick,” said Dave. “Be thicker soon. Yow couldn’t pole the boat across wi’out losing your way.”
“Couldn’t I?” cried Dick. “Oh, yes, I could! Good-night! I want you to show Mr Marston some sport with the ducks some day.”
“Ay; you bring him over, Mester Dick, and we’ll hev’ a good turn at the ’coy. Good-night!”