“Hush, woman.”
“'He made good money out here, at the diamond mines——'”
“Never a yellow sovereign he sent to me, then,” said Black Tom, “nor the full of your fist of ha'pence either. What's the use of getting grand-childers?”
Cæsar waved his hand. “Go on, Jonaique. It's bad when the deceitfulness of riches is getting the better of a man.”
“Where was I? Oh, 'good money ———' 'Yet he was never for taking joy in it——'”
“More money, more cares,” muttered Cæsar.
“'But talking and talking, and scheming for ever, for coming home.'”
“Ah! home is a full cup,” moaned Grannie. “It was a show the way that lad was fond of it. 'Give me a plate of mate, bolstered with cabbage, and what do I care for their buns and sarves, Grannie,' says he. Aw, boy veen, boy bogh!”
“What does the nightingale care for a golden cage when he can get a twig?” said Cæsar.
“Is the boy's chest home yet?” asked John the Clerk.