At first, though they must have heard, they paid no attention whatever; but at the third angry summons, they both stopped short, looked slowly round, and seeing their young master running, they stood still, and waited for him to come up, which he did, panting and angry.
“You, Nick Garth,” he cried; “you must have heard me call.”
“Yerse,” said the man addressed, a strong-built fellow, with a perfectly smooth face, and an unpleasant-looking pair of eyes, so arranged that they did not work properly; in fact, he could only use one at a time. If he brought one to bear upon an object, that eye dragged its fellow round so that the pupil dived under the man’s thick nose; and if he made an effort to see with the eclipsed one, it served its fellow in the same way.
“You must have heard too, Ram Jennings.”
“Yoss, I heared,” said the other man, a dark, rather villainous-looking fellow, whose face could not be called troubled with yellow specks, but streaked here and there with a little whitish red, the rest being one enormous freckle, which covered brow, cheeks, and chin.
“Then why didn’t you answer?”
“Both on us stopped,” said the first man addressed.
“Ay, that’s so,” said the other.
“Why didn’t you come back, then?”
“’Cause we see you running. Didn’t we, mate?”