The second boy sat on the fence and watched. Every now and then he spat in the dust with a certain conscious pride. At last, friendly relations having been established by the bout, William and the red-haired boy sat up in the dust and looked at each other.
"What's your name?" demanded William.
"Sam. Wot's yourn?"
"William. D'you go to school?"
The red-haired boy looked scornful.
"School? Me? Not much! I'm workin', I am. I works there, I does." He cocked his thumb in the direction of the house. "'E ain't much catch, though, 'e ain't. Stingy ole blighter—never so much as says 'Take an apple or two,' or 'Take a bunch of grapes or two'—not 'e—an' me the gardener's boy."
He relapsed into pensive gloom at this recital of his woes.
"So don't you never get none?" said William, sympathetically.
"Don' I?" said Sam, with a wink. "Wot d'yer think? That's all I asks yer. Wot d'yer think? But it 'ud be friendlier in 'im ter ask me ter 'ave one or two. Not," he admitted, "as it makes much difference. But 'e's a stingy bloke—allus 'as been. 'E's one of these 'ere school teachers. Kinder disagreeable in 'is manner."
"What's his name?" said William, with sudden interest.