“Will you let me speak!” cried Gwyn angrily. “We came in because something was wrong, and no one near to see to the steam.”
“Yes, there now; I only just went to that clumsy lot at the pump, to see if they meant to start it to-day, because, if they didn’t soon, I should have to damp down. Twelve o’clock, they said, and as I told Sam Hardock, there was I ready for them, but I s’pose he means twelve o’clock to-morrow. And when I comes back, I find you young gents playing the fool. D’yer want a big burst?”
“No,” cried Gwyn, who had striven twice to stop the indignant flow of words. “I tell you we came in because something was wrong—to try and stop—”
“Wrong? Yes, you meddling with the furnace.”
“We did not, I tell you.”
“What? Well, if you young gents can’t tell a good slumper, I’m a Dutchman. Why, I heard you at the furnace door, and as soon as I shouted, I hears you both roosh up the steps. Then I came round, and here you are. Better say you didn’t leave the door open.”
“I do say so,” shouted Gwyn, who had hard work to make himself heard above the steam.
“Oh, all right, then. You’re the governors’ sons. Burst the bylers if you like; they aren’t mine.”
“Will you listen?” cried Gwyn.
“Why, I am a-listening, aren’t I?” cried the man. “All right, it warn’t you, then, and it must ha’ been one o’ they big Cornish tom-cats.”