'Cos, if I'd ha' axed you, you'd ha' throwed a curse at me instead o' a pound o' backie.'
'You damned blockhead,' swore the young man, angrily.
'There—I sed as much. I'd rather hev the backie, though 'tother don't hurt, it only tickles.'
'Curse it,' exclaimed Sampson, in a violent rage; 'there is a particular reason to-day why I want the water well salted. Damn your rheumatism; you must be at your post.'
'I can't and I won't,' said Grizzly, sulkily.
'It is. You won't, not you can't,' blustered Sampson; then he gathered his stick short in his hand, and catching the old man by the ragged collar of his coat, he beat him well, pouring forth at the same time a volley of curses.
'This is all sham; I don't believe in your rheumatism. This is idleness. You are a good-for-nothing scoundrel. I'll give you occasion to moan and cry out.'
'You leave me alone, Cap'n,' yelled Cobbledick. 'You forget, I reckon, that I hev got the hanging of'y in my hands.'
'It may be so, but you forget that if I swing you swing also; one rope will do for both of us,' said Sampson. 'And for that reason I do not fear you in the least. Now then, will you do your work again to-day?'
'I can't.'