“Ay, even that dawg don’t take to me,” said Dinass, in an ill-used tone. “But there, I don’t care now you young gents believe me.”
“All right; good-morning,” said Gwyn, shortly. “Come along, Joe.”
“Nay, nay, don’t go away like that, Mr Gwyn, you’ll think better of me soon, when you aren’t so sore about it. For I put it to you, sir, as a gentleman as knows what the mine is, and to you, too, Master Joe Jollivet, you both know— Aren’t it a place where a man can lose himself quickly?”
“Well, yes, of course,” said Gwyn.
“Exactly; well, I lost myself same as you did; and because I warn’t with you, everybody’s again me—Sam Hardock and Harry Vores, and all the men, even the engine tenter; and that aren’t the worst of it.”
“What is, then?” said Joe.
“Why this, sir,” said the man, earnestly: “They’ve made a bad report of me to the guv’nors just when I was getting on and settling down to a good job in what seems like to be a rich mine with regular work, and I’m under notice to leave.”
“Serve you right for being such a sneak,” said Joe, angrily.
“Oh, Master Joe, you are hard on a man; but you’ll try and believe me, sir. I did work hard to find you both.”
“I daresay we’re wrong, Joe,” said Gwyn; and the dog uttered another growl which sounded wonderfully like the word “Bah!”