“Jem!” cried Don in a despairing voice, as he recalled the bundle he had made up, and the drawer left open.
“Well, sir, you was allus a-wanting to go abroad, and get away from the desk,” said Jem ill-naturedly—“oh, how my head do ache!—and now you’ve got your chance.”
“But that was all nonsense, Jem. I was only thinking then like a stupid, discontented boy. I don’t want to go. What will they say?”
“Dunno what they’ll say,” said Jem dolefully, “but I know what my Sally will say. I used to talk about going and leaving her, but that was because I too was a hidyut. I didn’t want to go and leave her, poor little lass. Too fond on her, Mas’ Don. She only shows a bit o’ temper.”
“Jem, she’ll think you’ve run away and deserted her.”
“Safe, Mas’ Don. You see, I made up a bundle o’ wittles as if I was a-going, and she saw me take it out under my arm, and she called to me to stop, but I wouldn’t, because I was so waxy.”
“And I made up a bundle too, Jem. I—I did half think of going away.”
“Then you’ve done it now, my lad. My Sally will think I’ve forsook her.”
“And they at home will think of me as a thief. Oh, fool—fool—fool!”
“What’s the use o’ calling yourself a fool, Mas’ Don, when you means me all the time? Oh, my head, my head!”