In fact, when I had nearly finished my plateful, a thought struck me, and after a little hesitation I turned to Mr Brymer.
“Well?” he said. “What is it, Dale?”
“I was thinking, sir,” I said.
“What of—the gang singing? They’re passing the bottle round pretty freely.”
“No, sir,” I said. “I was thinking how tantalising it must be to hear this dinner going on, and smell it, and not get some.”
“Oh, we’ll call the men to finish it when we’ve done. Poor fellows! they work hard for us, and we will not stand on ceremony now.”
“I meant Walters, sir,” I said.
“Humph! The treacherous young hound! Why, you don’t mean you want to take him some?”
“Yes, I do, sir,” I said quickly. “I don’t like him, or defend him, but I’d give him a plate of this.”
Mr Brymer looked round the table and frowned.