“Oh, Smith, my good fellow!” cried Oliver, who felt moved at the man’s act.
“It’s all right, sir. You and me can talk about birds as you’ve skinned, and about some o’ those tomtit and sparrer things as I’ve seen about, and meant to shoot for yer some day. And when we’re tired o’ that, we can ask riddles and sing a song or two, or play at chucking one stone at another, or into the water. It won’t be so much like being all alone in the coal-cellar, shut up for a naughty boy as I used to be when I was a little ’un.”
“Smith, I can never feel grateful enough for this,” cried Oliver.
“Gammon, sir; Pretty sort of a chap I should be if I hadn’t ha’ been ready to stop and keep a gent like you comp’ny a bit. Don’t you say no more about that there, sir.”
“I must, Smith, I must,” said Oliver, huskily.
“Then I shall be off till you’ve done, sir; and you’ll have to say it to the heckers as allus answers, ‘Where’?”
Oliver pressed the man’s hand, and Smith gave a sigh of relief.
“Any use to offer you a bit o’ good pig-tail, sir?” he said. “Werry comfortin’ at a time like this.”
“No, thank you, Smith, I don’t chew.”
“I doos,” said Smith, giving a grunt or two, which was followed by the click of the knife being shut after using it to cut a quid, and then by the sharp snap of a brass tobacco box. “Werry bad habit, sir, but I don’t seem able to leave it off. I say, sir, what about poor old Billy? Don’t say as you think he’s drowned.”