“That’s all stuff and nonsense, Bob,” cried Carey. “I know. Now tell the truth; you’ve some reason for being so long.”
Bostock was silent, and he screwed up his mahogany-tinted face till he looked ten years older.
“Come, sir, speak the truth.”
“Allus does,” said the old fellow, gruffly.
“Let’s have it then. Why are you spinning out this job so long and won’t get it done?”
“Am I, sir—spinning it out like?”
“Yes, you know you are. Now, are you going to tell me why?”
“No, I aren’t,” growled the old fellow.
“Very well, but I believe I know.”
“Not you, my lad. I tell you I’m going to make an out-and-out good job of it.”