“There’s another little fortune there, Burne,” said the professor quietly.
“Nonsense, sir! There isn’t a tree in the lot out of which you could cut a good board. Might do for gun-stocks.”
“My dear Burne,” said the professor, “don’t you know that these large ugly bosses go to Europe to be steamed till they are soft, and then shaved off into leaves as thin almost as coarse brown paper, and then used and polished for all our handsome pianofortes?”
“No,” said Mr Burne shortly, “I didn’t know it, and I didn’t want to know it. I’m starving, and my back is getting bad again. Here, Yussuf, how much farther is it?”
“Two hours’ journey, excellency; but as soon as we reach that gap in the rocks we come to a road that leads directly to the village, and the walking will be easier.”
“Hadn’t we better try and shoot a bird or an animal, and make a fire under those trees, and see if we can find some walnuts? I must eat something. I cannot devour snuff!”
The professor smiled.
“There is nothing to shoot,” he said; “and as to the walnuts, they are very nice after dinner with wine, but for a meal—”
“Here, Lawrence, you are tired out, my boy,” cried Mr Burne interrupting.
“Yes, I am very tired,” said Lawrence, “but I can go on.”