“That’s better!” said old Sam. “The masters both out, and we’re having a nice day here.”
Leather stood as if turned to stone.
“Let’s look at you,” continued the old man, as he roughly spun Brookes round. “Where’s yer ’ankycher?”
Brookes made a movement to seize the axe, but old Sam kicked it away.
“Let it alone, stoopid! What did you want to tell that lie for? He didn’t hit you wi’ that.”
“I swear he did,” cried Brookes fiercely.
“Then you’d swear anything,” said Sam, binding up the rough cut. “But do you think I’m a fool? Any one can see that wasn’t made with the edge of a chopper. Did he give you that lovely crack in the mouth with the chopper too?”
“I’ll let him see—I’ll let him see!”
“I wouldn’t till I’d washed my face. Sarves you right: you’re allus letting out at somebody. If I warn’t a nat’ral angel in temper I should ha’ let you have it years ago.”
“I’ll let him see—I’ll let him see,” muttered Brookes savagely.