“I’ll smack your head if you do it again.”
Joe looked warily and solemnly at him, then deliberately spat on the floor of the car.
“That,” he said, “is to show I know you’re a gentleman, and what I thinks of yer.”
René dragged him out of the car, smacked his head, and flung him into the bracken.
“I’ll have the law on yer,” yelled Joe, trying to shout himself into a fury.
“Then you’ll have to walk home. Maybe that would sober you.”
“No ’arm, me lord, no ’arm. It’s looking for work, guvnor, that’s what it is. It makes you fuddled. ’Struth it does. Here am I with five children, doing my duty by my country, and I can’t get work. Five children. ‘Good!’ says you, being a gentleman and well provided for. ‘Who’s to support ’em?’ says I. ‘You,’ says you. ‘Let me work,’ says I. ‘There ain’t no work,’ says you. ‘There’s going to be work for as few as possible in this ’ere country,’ you says. ‘Chuck your flaming union,’ you says, ‘blackleg the bloody unionists,’ you says, ‘and there’ll be heaps of work at one farving per hour.’ ‘Five children,’ says I. ‘Good,’ says you. ‘They’ve got hungry little bellies,’ says I. ‘Have they?’ says you. ‘Let ’em come and watch the blokes coming to my dinner-party to-night.’” He had worked himself up to an excitement which he could not contain, and he burst into tears.
“’Struth is, sir,” he said presently, “I ain’t getting enough to eat, and you know how it is with my missus.”
“Ann Pidduck is looking after her,” said René, “and I promised to look after you.”
“Woffor did you take me out into the bloomin’ country?”