“No, sir, nothing,” answered Hal, in a careless tone, like one who was well content with the state of habitual idleness. “No, sir, nothing!” replied Ben, in a voice of lamentation.
“Come,” said Mr. Gresham, “if you have nothing to do, lads, will you unpack those two parcels for me?”
The two parcels were exactly alike, both of them well tied up with good whip cord. Ben took his parcel to a table, and, after breaking off the sealing wax, began carefully to examine the knot, and then to untie it. Hal stood still, exactly in the spot where the parcel was put into his hands, and tried first at one corner, and then at another, to pull the string off by force. “I wish these people wouldn’t tie up their parcels so tight, as if they were never to be undone,” cried he, as he tugged at the cord; and he pulled the knot closer instead of loosening it.
“Ben! why, how did you get yours undone, man? what’s in your parcel?—I wonder what is in mine! I wish I could get this string off—I must cut it.”
“Oh, no,” said Ben, who now had undone the last knot of his parcel, and who drew out the length of string with exultation, “don’t cut it, Hal,—look what a nice cord this is, and yours is the same: it’s a pity to cut it; ‘Waste not, want not!’ you know.”
“Pooh!” said Hal, “what signifies a bit of packthread?”
“It is whip cord,” said Ben.
“Well, whip cord! what signifies a bit of whip cord! you can get a bit of whip cord twice as long as that for twopence; and who cares for twopence! Not I, for one! so here it goes,” cried Hal, drawing out his knife; and he cut the cord, precipitately, in sundry places.
“Lads! have you undone the parcels for me?” said Mr. Gresham, opening the parlour door as he spoke.
“Yes, sir,” cried Hal; and he dragged off his half cut, half entangled string—“here’s the parcel.” “And here’s my parcel, uncle; and here’s the string,” said Ben.