“Well, you won’t see it when it’s broken if we’re going to part.”
“Of course not; and you could get to the big grindstone they’ve set up under that shed for the men to grind their picks. Soon give it a fresh point. I say, how jolly that is—only to put on the band over the wheel shaft from the engine, and the stone goes spinning round! I tried it one day on my knife. It was splendid.”
“You seem precious glad that we’ve got to part,” said Gwyn.
“Not a bit of it. It’s all gammon.”
“Eh? What is?”
“Talking about separating. It doesn’t mean anything. I know better than that. Come, let’s talk sense.”
“That’s what I have been doing,” said Gwyn, stiffly.
“Not you; been bantering all the time. They didn’t mean it, and you didn’t mean it. We’re to be partners over the mine some of these days, Ydoll, when we grow up, and they’re tired of it. I say, though, I don’t think I shall like having that Tom Dinass here.”
“No,” said Gwyn, thoughtfully. “He looks as if he could bite. Think what he said about getting work was all true?”
“I suppose so. Seems reasonable. I don’t like to disbelieve people when they speak out plainly to you.”