“So that’s what ye’re at!” he cried. “Nay, nay, Joe; I’ve had enough o’ your payin’ back. I know what that manes. You an’ yer missus ’ud make yer dinner off ’em, if ye didn’t chop the lot for a drink straight off.”
“No, no,” pleaded Joe, almost tearfully; “’tis too bad to say such things, and take a pore man’s character away. I’ll gi’e ye me Bible oath—dang me, an’ everythin’ reg’lar by the Book—that I’d put ’em straight in the ground, Jim Cross.”
“Well, I can’t spare the taters, anyhow,” grumbled Jim. “I’m a pore man an’ have to purvide for mysel’ an’ my family. I’m sorry I can’t obleege ye, but so ’tis.”
He walked off, leaving poor old Joe staring blankly after him.
By and by a light quick tread was heard approaching from the opposite direction, and a dapper-looking young fellow rounded the corner of the lane, whistling to himself as he advanced. He, too, carried a fork, and a half-filled sack was flung over his shoulder.
“Goin’ up to the ’lotments?” inquired Joseph falteringly.
“Yes, I’ve jest knocked off work, an’ am goin’ up there for an hour or two before dark. Fine evenin’, Mr. Frisby.”
“Aye, sure,” said Joseph. “Ye’ve got a grand sackful there, Jan.”
“’Tis a big piece to fill up, Mr. Frisby. We han’t got above half enough o’ our own. We’ll have to buy some.”
“I haven’t got one to put in my bit o’ ground,” said Joseph impressively. “What do ye think of that, Jan Domeny? Not one; no, nor not so much as a stalk o’ cabbage.”