“Do you mean,” said George, with—what might seem in such a man impossible—a touch of cunning lent him by adversity, “Do you mean that this old tub can make Parham in twenty-four hours?”
“I dunno bout arhs,” said the boy surlily, “an’ she’s norr a tub either” (for they have a curious loyalty to their temporary homes), “but it’s a dy’s run. Any fool knahs that,” he added courteously.
George dared not betray the hope that was rising in his heart. Luckily for him the boy volunteered his next information.
“We’re orf Long Nahse now,” he said, “but I dunno bout th’ toide outsoide.”
“No?” said George, merely desiring to prolong this all-important conversation.
“Nah: I dahn’t, I tell yer!” said the boy defiantly, “nor there’s norr many does. I’ll lye yer dahn’t yerself.”
At this stage of the conversation and just as an awkward pause interrupted it, a new terror struck the boy.
“Oh chise me!” he said, “look at yer tin!”
“What’s the matter?” asked George as he peered into the empty tin.
“It’s gorn empty,” whimpered the boy.