“Say a hiveful of ’em, Père Moche, and you’ll be nearer truth. God! I can’t deny it, hard work’s not my strong point.”
But old Moche, suddenly putting on an air of sternness and anxiety, questioned:
“Tell me, Paulet, how goes the work in question?”
The young apache, who for the nonce, bore the stamp of the most respectable of working men, replied eagerly:
“The work’s done, M. Moche. Oh! I give you my word I’ve put in a desperate hard four hours over the job; I’ve never in all my life done such a day’s work for the masters. True,” added the pale-faced young loafer, “it was no ordinary job I had on.... Just you think ...”
But Moche interrupted him:
“That’s all right, that’s all right, Paulet; no need to go gassing here about matters that concern only you and me. You shall tell me the whole story by-and-by if things have gone well. Come along and have a glass with me.”
“And my barrow?” queried Paulet.
“Bah! leave it on the sidewalk; no fear anybody’ll come and pinch it. And besides, if they did make off with it, I guess you’d never care; for you strike me as the very image of a workman out-of-work.”
A good quarter of an hour later the two men were coming out of the dram-shop, looking at once well satisfied and mysterious.