"'Tis a foine va-acation ye're havin' playin' nurse fer a pinched toe, an' me tearin' out th' bone fer to git out th' logs on salt-horse an' dough-gods 't w'd sink a battle-ship. 'Tis a lucky divil ye ar-re altogither," railed Fallon good-naturedly as he returned from supper and found Bill engaged in the task of swashing arnica on his bruised foot.
"Oh, I don't know. I'll be back in the game to-morrow."
"To-morry!" exclaimed Irish, eying the swollen and discolored member with a grin. "Yis; ut'll be to-morry, all right. But 'tis a shame to waste so much toime. Av ye c'd git th' boss to put ye on noight shift icin' th' skidways, ye wudn't have to wait so long."
"It's a fact, Irish," laughed Bill. "I go on at 4 a.m. to-morrow."
"Fure a.m., is ut? An' phwat'll ye be doin'? Peelin' praties fer that dommed pisener in th' kitchen. Ye've only been laid up t'ree days an' talk av goin' to wor-rk. Man! Av Oi was lucky enough to git squose loike that, Oi'd make ut lasht a month av Oi had to pour ink on me foot to kape up th' color."
"I'm going to Hilarity for a cook," insisted Bill. "Moncrossen says there is a real one down there—Daddy Dunnigan, he called him."
"Sure, Dunnigan'll not come into th' woods. An' phy shud he? Wid money in th' bank, an' her majesty's—Oi mane, his nibs's pension comin' in ivery month, an' his insides broke in to Hod Burrage's whisky—phwat more c'd a man want?"
"The boss thinks maybe he'll come. Anyway, I am going after him."
"Ye shud av towld um to go to hell! Wor-rkin' a man wid a foot loike that is croolty to animals; av ye was a harse he'd be arrested."
"He didn't tell me to go. He is crowded for men; the grub is rotten; something has to be done; and he asked me if I thought I could make it."