The boss sat up, galvanised into alert attention. “Eh? What?” he exclaimed.
“Yes, sir, 'e's caused 'is ma many a (h)anxious hour, 'as Samuel.” Again the eye closed in a slow and solemn wink. “And we thought, 'is ma and me, that we would like to get Samuel into some easy job—”
“An easy job, eh?”
“Yes, sir. Something in the office, 'ere.”
“But his brain, you say, would not let him study his books.”
“Oh, it was them sums, sir, an' the Jography and the 'Istory an' the Composition, an', an'—wot else, Samuel? You see, these 'ere schools ain't a bit like the schools at 'ome, sir. They're so confusing with their subjecks. Wot I say is, why not stick to real (h)eddication, without the fiddle faddles?”
“So you want an easy job for your son, eh?” enquired Mr. Maitland.
“Boy,” he said sharply to Samuel, whose eyes had again become fixed upon the gay and daring lumber-jack. Samuel recalled himself with visible effort. “Why did you leave school? The truth, mind.” The “borin'” eyes were at their work.
“Fired!” said Sam promptly.
Mr. Wigglesworth began a sputtering explanation.