“Master, do they scream much?” asked Sören in a half whisper.
“Well, they don’t often laugh.”
“Faugh, what an ugly business!”
“Then there’s no use my counting on one of you for help, I suppose.”
“Are you countin’ on us to help you?” asked Rasmus, and rose angrily.
“I’m not counting on anything, but I’m looking for a young man to help me and to take the business after me, that’s what I’m looking for, as you might say.”
“And what wages might a man get for that?” asked Jens Bottom, earnestly.
“Fifteen dollars per annum in ready money, one-third of the clothing, and one mark out of every dollar earned according to the fixed rate.”
“And what might that be?”
“The rate is this, that I get five dollars for whipping at the post, seven dollars for whipping from town, four dollars for turning out of the county, and the same for branding with hot iron.”