“What are you doing here?”
“Looking at you, Ben Hayle. Path’s free for me as it is for you. No, I aren’t got a gun in two pieces in my pockets. You needn’t look. You know how that’s done.”
“If I’d been you, I’d ha’ stopped away altogether,” said the keeper, “and not come back here, where nobody wants you.”
“Pity you weren’t me. Six months’ hard would have done you good once more.”
“When I get six months’ imprisonment, it won’t be for night poaching, but for putting a charge of shot in you, you lunging hound. And don’t you let that tongue of yours wag so fast, young man. I’m not ashamed of it. Everyone knows I did a bit of poaching when I was a young fool, and did my bit in quod for that trouble with the keepers. But they know too that, when I came out, and the captain’s father come to me and said, ‘Drop it, my lad, and be an honest man,’ I said I would, and served him faithful; so shut your mouth before I do it with the stock of my gun.”
“All right, mate, don’t be waxey. Look here:—s’pose I turn honest too.”
“You!” said the keeper, scornfully.
“Yes, me; and marry Judy.”
“That’ll do,” cried the keeper sharply.
“No it won’t, we’re old sweethearts—Judy and me.”