"They know perfectly well that I want only what is just and right to the shareholders. They expect their pay to the last penny, but when I insist on a proper return for it they look at me as if they'd like to knock me on the head. It's disheartening work. I've been tempted at times to throw it all up and go back to England"—at which Nance's heart gave so unusual a little kick that she had difficulty in frowning it into quietude, and just then Bernel came in with his gun and a couple of rabbits.
"Who's going to England?" he asked. "I'll go too."
"No you won't," said Nance sharply. "We want you here."
"It's as dull as Beauregard pond and as dirty, since the m—aw—um!" with a deprecatory glance at Gard.
"You'd find most busy places just as dirty," said Gard.
"Then I'll go to sea. That's clean at all events."
"Let's hope things will brighten a bit. You wouldn't find the fo'c'sle of a trader as comfortable as La Closerie, my boy,"—and they fell to on their dinner and left the matter there.
"Dites-donc, Nannon, ma petite," said Mrs. Tom to Nance, a day or two later, "who is the joli gars who comes each day to see you?"
"Mr. Gard from the mines comes up here to get his dinner, if that's what you mean."
"Oh—ho! He comes for his dinner, does he? And is that all he comes for, little Miss Modesty?"