“Ay!—the trade business. Did I ivver come and say word to anny of you?”
“Never.”
“Or to yow, youngster?”
“Never, Pannell. You always went against us,” I said, “when a word from you would—”
“Theer, that’ll do. Tell me this—Did I ivver tell on anny on ’em?”
“No; you have always been true to your party, Pannell—if that is what you mean.”
“And that is what I mean,” said the great fellow, throwing his head about and jerking out his words, each with a menacing flourish of the hammer or a mock blow, as if they were steel words that he wanted to strike into shape.
“Nobody accused you of tale-bearing to us,” said Uncle Dick.
“Didn’t they, mester?” he roared. “What’s this, then, and this, and this?”
He touched the scars upon his head and brow, and the sticking-plaster left on.