“Ay,” said Smiler. “Know how they do it?”
“Saves up,” said Joey.
“Yah! They don’t get no money to save. I’ll tell ’ee. My cousin, Billy Weekes, ’listed—you all knew Billy?”
“Ay!” chorussed the others, as they stood gazing down at the scarlet-coated figure lying with its face hidden by a drooping tangle of hops caused by the breaking of a pole.
“Billy tode me,” continued Smiler, “as, when one on ’em gets leave, he goes round among his mates, and they all gi’es him a penny or twopence apiece—hundred on ’em, p’r’aps—and that sets him up!”
“Ay?” said Joey. “And when their turn comes he gi’es them all a penny?”
“Yes; that’s it—all round. So they chaps as goos out allus has some’at to spend.”
“And a very good way, too,” said Joey, chuckling. “Well, I could drink a quaart now, and I’ve got a penny; s’pose you three chaps all gi’es me one apiece, for my throat’s as dry as a lime-basket.”
The men looked at one another and chuckled.
“Hadn’t us better wake un up?” said Smiler, at last.