“That’s right, sir. If they had been hurting you and your boots felt tight, I was going to say, come down to the water’s edge and paddle your feet a bit.”
“But they’re all right.”
“Glad of it, sir. Mine ain’t. At least they’re better now. That’s what I went and did, and it’s lovely. Thirsty, sir?”
“Well, yes, I am thirsty.”
“Then I’ll get you a drink, sir, same as the men’s had. Two of ’em’s been up one of those trees—these trees like we’re under, sir. They calls ’em cocoa-nut, but that’s all nonsense. They’re not nuts.”
“Oh yes, these are real cocoa-nut trees, Ned.”
“Well, sir, I don’t like to contradick you; it wouldn’t be my place. But if these are real cocoanuts, them we buys—I mean I buys—at home are sham ones.”
“Oh, they’re all the same, Ned.”
“Well, sir, ’tain’t for me to contradick. I dessay you’re quite right and they are all the same, but they’re quite different. Them at home’s hard shells with rough shaggy hairs on ’em, and inside they’re white solid nut.”
“So are these, Ned.”