“Then be off, and don’t come bothering me,” grunted the old man snappishly.
“Don’t be cross, master; you’ve no call to be. You never have no gashly troubles to worry you.”
“No, nor don’t mean to have. What’s the matter now?”
“My gal!”
“Serve you right. No business to have married. You never saw me make such a fool of myself.”
“No, master, never; but when you’ve got gals you must do your best for ’em.”
“Humph! what’s the matter?”
Poll Perrow looked slowly round the ill-furnished, untidy place.
“You want a woman here, Master Luke Vine, sir,” she said at last.
“Don’t talk nonsense!”