"And," pursued Jowett, "you'll have to stretch a point or two. Of course he'll want very little in the way of wages to begin."
"Half-a-crown a week and his victuals," replied the farmer, promptly. "And he must bind himself for three months certain—I'm not going to be thrown out of a boy at the orkardest time of the year for getting 'em into sharp ways. And I can't have no asking for holidays for three months, either."
Jowett looked at Geoff.
"Very well," said Geoff.
"And you must go to church reg'lar," added the farmer. "You can manage it well enough, and Sunday school, too, if you're sharp—there's only twice to the station on Sundays."
"On Sundays, too?" repeated Geoff. Sundays at worst had been a day of no work at home.
"To be sure," said Eames, sharply. "Beasts can't do for themselves on Sundays no more than any other day. And Londoners can't drink sour milk on Sundays neither."
"No," said Geoff, meekly enough. "Of course I'm used to church," he added, "but I think I'm rather too old for the Sunday school."
"I'll leave that to the parson," said the farmer. "Well, now then, we may as well see if dinner's not ready. It's quite time, and you'll be getting hungry, Mr. Jowett," he added, with a slight hesitation.
"Why not call me Ned? You're very high in your manners to-day, Eames," said the other, with a sort of wink.