“You come along, and don’t talk stuff!” cried Frank. “Is that the chicken?” and he nodded toward the basket. “Well sor, I’d like to tell the truth when I can.”
“What do you mean? Haven’t you got a chicken?” cried Frank, wrathfully. “No, sor.”
“I gave you orders to get one for a bait, and if you haven’t got one, it’s no use for us to go on.”
“I did go to get one, sor.”
“Well?”
“And the baste at the farthest off house said he’d find one for me.”
“Well? Why, you have got it,” cried Frank; “I can hear it rustling in the basket.”
“That isn’t a chicken, sor.”
“What is it, then?” cried Frank, impatiently.
“It’s what he said was a chicken, sor.”