“Ay,” exclaimed one, “we must get the chap as takes photographs to come over on purpose. Eh, what a rare cart-der-wissit Tommy’ll make arter the scratching. You must lay in a lot on ’em, Will, and sell ’em for sixpence a piece. You’ll make your fortune by it, man.”
“Martha,” said Jones, turning to his wife, “mind, not a word to any living soul about what we’ve been saying.”
“I’ve said I won’t tell,” replied his wife; “and in course I won’t. But I’m sure you might find summat better to do nor scratching a poor fellow’s face as has done you no harm. I’m not fond of your teetottal chaps; but Tommy’s a quiet, decent sort of man, and their Betty’s as tidy a wench as you’ll meet with anywhere; and I think it’s a shame to bring ’em any more trouble, for they’ve had more nor their share as it is. It’d be a rare and good thing if some of you chaps’d follow Tommy’s example. There’d be more peace in the house, and more brass in the pocket at the week end.”
“Hold your noise, and mind your own business,” shouted her husband, fiercely. “You just blab a word of what we’ve been saying, and see how I’ll sarve you out.—Come, mates, let’s be off to the ‘George;’ we shall find better company there.”
So saying, he strode savagely out of the cottage, followed by his companions. When they were fairly gone, the poor boy slipped from his hiding-place.
“Johnny,” said his mother, “if you’ll do what your mother bids you, I’ll give your fayther the change for the shilling out of my own pocket, and he’ll never know as you lost it.”
“Well, mother, I’ll do it if I can.”
“You’ve heard what your fayther and t’other chaps were saying?”
“Yes, mother; every word on’t.”
“Well, John, I promised I wouldn’t let out a word of it myself; but I didn’t say that you shouldn’t.”