Archie’s proud soul rebelled against this way of talking, but he said nothing. It was evident that Mr Winslow looked upon him as a boy.
“Well, I hope you’ll do right both of you. What prospects have you?”
Archie told him how high his hopes were, and how exalted his notions.
“Them’s your sentiments, eh? Then my advice is this: Pitch ’em all overboard—the whole jing-bang of them. Your high-flown notions sink you English greenhorns. Now, when I all but offered you a position under me—”
“Under your gardener,” said Archie, smiling. “Well, it’s all the same. I didn’t mean to insult your father’s son. I wanted to know if you had the grit and the go in you.”
“I think I’ve both, sir. Father—Squire Broadbent—”
“Squire Fiddlestick!”
“Sir!”
“Go on, lad, never mind me. Your father—”
“My father brought me up to work.”