The little fellow made an effort to speak, but only sighed at first, before stammering out:
“Please, sir, I don’t know what you mean.”
“You don’t?” growled the man, fiercely, as he clapped the palm of his left hand upon the front of his waistband, and the back of his right hand level with it behind; then kicking out his right leg behind, he made a kind of hop on his left, as if to shake himself down into his clothes, as he hoisted them up.
“You don’t?” he said again, as he stared at the little fellow. “What are you, then? A furrener?”
“No, sir,” said the little boy, shrinking; for the man now took a step forward and clapped a big, brown, tarry hand upon his shoulder.
“Then why can’t yer understand yer own lingo?”
“I do, sir,” said the boy, with a sound like a sob.
“Then why did you say you didn’t, and make me think you was a Frenchy?”
“I didn’t know what you meant, sir, by ‘hilli’ something, and ‘what cheer.’”
“Why, yer young savage!” cried the man. “Arn’t yer never been to school?”