“Here!” said I, “drop your gimcracks on this dirty place—what for?”
“Oh, never mind what for; don’t argufy, my boy, them’s prison sweepings; the gimcracks is in Nellie’s pail.”
“Oh, I thought these were mighty heavy gimcracks. Well, let me carry Nell’s pail to the shop.”
“No, no!” cried Nell, stepping back, “I’d liefer car my own, don’t you trouble.”
“Then I’ll take your dirty linen,” said I, making a sudden grab at Frances’ bundle.
To my great surprise some bits of stone and a cloud of mortar flew out.
“Hallo!” I said.
“Look here, Dan’l,” said Fan, firmly, “we are greatly beholden for your help, but we don’t want no more at present. You go on with Dan’l, Nell, and leave me here to empt the buckats.”
Nell put down her pail, took my arm, and marched me off. I was inclined to be offended, but she soothed me down as any woman can when she chooses. She assured me that both the engineer (whom she called Jack—probably Jacques was his name) and the commissary had taken a great fancy to me, and would undertake to teach me French if I would only go often enough.
I had not the least objection to going, as I found prison experiences amusing, but I could not quite understand the bucket-carrying part of it.