“Yes, sir, I know what you’re going to say; but you’re awful bad. Now, you have a bit to eat, and then go to sleep, and when you wake up let’s see if I can’t manage to get you on one of those flat bits o’ slaty stone, and then I’ll get a strap to it, and pull you down the slope—you’ll quite slide like—and when we’re off the snow I’ll pig-a-back you to the first wood, and we’ll hide there, and I’ll keep helping you on a bit till we get to this here Jack-and-Jill Valley. You see, the job can’t be done without you.”
“This is all shuffling and scheming, Gedge, to escape doing your duty,” said Bracy sternly.
“Is it, sir?” said the lad, with an assumption of innocence.
“You know it is, sir. You don’t want to go?”
“Well, sir, I suppose that is about the size of it.”
“Do you want me to look upon you as a contemptible cur?” said Bracy, flashing out into anger now.
“No, sir; o’ course not.”
“I see how it is. I’ve been believing you to be all that is manly and true, while all the time I’ve been labouring under a gross mistake, for now you are put to the test you are only base metal. Go; leave me. Gedge, you are a miserable, contemptible coward after all.”
“Yes, sir; that’s it, sir,” said the lad bitterly; “bit o’ common brass as got into the service, and you orficers and old Gee and the rest of you drilled up and polished and dressed up and put some gilt on; but when yer comes to rub it off, I’m on’y a bit o’ brass after all.”
“Yes, you know exactly—coward!—dog!”