“I aun’t, particular.”
“Well, I’m not going to tell you it’s the grandest job on earth, and that all the chaps out there are having the time of their lives. It wouldn’t be true, though I expect the Tribunal told you so.”
“Yessir; they said as if they were only ten years younger they’d all be in it.”
“Of course they did. Well, I’ve been out there, and I’ve seen.... But never mind; you’ll find that out for yourself, Beatup. However, I’ll say this much—it isn’t a nice job, or a grand job, or even a good job; but it’s a job that’s got to be done, and when it’s done we’ll like to think that Sussex chaps helped do it.”
Tom’s heart warmed a little towards Mus’ Archie. He was making him feel as he had felt when Bill Putland said, “We’re all eighteenth Sussex hereabouts.”
“It aun’t the going as un vrother me, if it wurn’t fur leaving Worge. I’m fretted as the plaace ull land at the auctioneer’s if I’m long away. You see, I’ve always done most of the work, in my head as well as wud my hands. Faather, he aun’t a healthy man, and the others aun’t much help nuther. There’s only Harry lik to be any use, and he’s such an unaccountable limb of wickedness—for ever at his tricks—to-night’s only one of them.”
“Perhaps he’ll pull himself together and work for Worge when he sees you’ve gone to fight for it.”
This was new light on the matter for Tom. Hitherto he had always thought of himself as deserting Worge in its hour of need—it had never occurred to him that his going was the going of a champion, not of a traitor.
“Maybe it’s as you say, Mus’ Archie. Leastways, we’ll hope so.”