“All right! but I say, mother—Here, go on with your work, you young rascal. Keeping your ears staring wide open like that!”
“Please, master, I couldn’t help hearing,” said the boy dolefully. “I’m a-learning my trade, and trying to obey my pastors and masters as hard as ever I can.”
“Now, lookye here,” said Dick, taking up his hammer and gazing threateningly at the boy, “I never have given it to you yet, John Johnson, or, as I familiarly call you, from where you came and the stripes you had on you when you came, Union Jack—”
“No, master,” whined the boy, “you’ve been very kind indeed to me.”
“I have, you hungry young alligator,” said Dick. “So look here, I won’t have it; I’m as bad as Mr Hopper that way,—I hate people to preach and sling catechism at me so don’t you do it again.”
“No, master; please, I’ll try very hard indeed, and obey you, as it is my dooty to.”
“Will you leave off?” roared Dick, striking his bench with the hammer, so that the tools and nails jumped almost as much as the boy. “You’re at it again, talking in that canting, whining, tread-underfoot, workhouse style; and I won’t have it. What did I tell you you was?”
“A free-born Briton, please, master.”
“Then why don’t you act as such, and say ‘Yes, sir,’ and ‘No, sir,’ outright and down straight?—not whine and grovel like a worm without any sting in his tail.”
“Please, master, I’ll try and order myself lowly and reverently to all my betters.”