Humpy roared with laughter again. “Don’t you believe him, master,” he cried; “that there Pete Burge is the biggest liar we have in our parts. He’d say anything.”
“Men, men!” cried Nic, wildly, to the others; “speak the truth, for Heaven’s sake.”
“Course we will,” cried Humpy quickly. “It’s all right, master. Don’t you show more favour to one than another. We was all took together after a bit o’ poaching and a fight. Youngster there got a crack on the head which knocked him silly, and he’s hatched up this here cockamaroo story in his fright at being sent out. Do him good—do all on us good, and we’re all glad to ha’ got with such a good master; aren’t we, lads?”
“That will do,” said the settler. “You have got too much grease on your tongue, my man.”
“But, sir,” cried Nic.
“Silence!”
“You will let me write to my friends?”
“We don’t want you to write to us, mate,” cried Humpy grinning; “we can’t none on us read. You can tell us what you want to say.”
“Silence, you, sir,” said the settler, sternly; “I keep a cat here, and that man who saw to your irons knows how to use it. Hold your tongue, once for all.”
“Oh, all right master; I on’y—”