“I didn’t,” I cried.
“Not in words, my fine fellow, but you looked it.”
“Then I won’t look so again,” I cried. “I say, don’t talk to me as if I were a little boy to be sent to bed.”
“Well, you’re not a man yet, Cob. Is he, boys?”
Uncle Dick was in high spirits, and he took up a candle and held it close to my cheek.
“What’s the matter?” I said. “Is it black? I shouldn’t wonder.”
“Not a bit, Cob,” he said seriously. “You can’t even see a bit of the finest down growing.”
“Oh, I say,” I cried, “it’s too bad! I don’t pretend to be a man at sixteen; but now I’ve come down here to help you in the new works, you oughtn’t to treat me as if I were a little boy.”
“Avast joking!” said Uncle Dick quietly, for the comely landlady came in to clear away the tea-things, and she had just finished when there was a double knock at the front door.
We heard it opened, and a deep voice speaking, and directly after the landlady came in with a card.