“And eight into twenty-four goes three times,” said the man who left school last, amidst a murmur of satisfaction.
“Eight shillin’s apiece,” said Smiler.
“Get along with you,” cried Joey. “Three shillin’s apiece. Hands out, boys.”
Seven hard palms were extended to him instantly, the coins counted into them, and Joey looked round.
“Before we can get to work again, boys, it’ll be nigh time to leave off.”
“Ay,” was chorussed.
“There’s a drop of yale nigh at hand, we’re all dry and we’ve yearned it, so I says let’s have one drink and then talk about it as we goes back.”
“And so says all you,” cried Smiler.
But they did not in words, only in acts; so that the aphides left on the hops enjoyed a few more leaves of life.