“’Used to it.” William rather approved of this round person who wasted no time on abstract ideas.
“Pore boys! Well! Well! It saves trouble—for the present. Knots and splices in your stummick afterwards—in ’ospital.” Mr. Marsh looked at the cold camp cooking-place and its three big stones, and sniffed.
“Would you like it lit?” said William, suddenly.
“What for?”
“To cook with.”
“What d’ you know about cookin’?” Mr. Marsh’s little eyes opened wide.
“Nothing, sir.”
“What makes you think I’m a cook?”
“By the way you looked at our cooking-place,” the mendacious William answered. The Prawn had always urged him to cultivate habits of observation. They seemed easy—after you had observed the things.
“Well! Well! Quite a young Sherlock, you are. ’Don’t think much o’ this, though.” Mr. Marsh began to stoop to rearrange the open-air hearth to his liking.