“Shovel it away and get more out of the centre.”
Harry obeyed, and looked up.
“Now take a couple of handfuls and examine them. Don’t be afraid, man, it’s honest dirt.”
Van Heldre set the example, took a handful, and poured it from left to right and back.
“Now,” he said, “take notice: that’s badly washed.”
“Not soap enough,” said Harry, hiding his annoyance with an attempt at being facetious.
“Not exactly,” said Van Heldre dryly; “bad work. Now when that tin is passed through the furnace there’ll be twice as much slag and refuse as there ought to be. That will do. Leave the shovel, I want you to take account of those slabs of tin. Mark them, number them, and enter them in this book. It will take you an hour. Then bring the account down to me at the office.”
“I can have a man to move the slabs?”
“No: they are all busy. If I were doing it, I should work without a man.”
“Hang it all! I’m about sick of this,” said Harry. “How mad Aunt Marguerite would be if she could see me now!”