“You might as well replenish your stock, then,” retorted Erb.
“Re-plenish!” echoed the other disgustedly. “Why don’t you talk the Queen’s English like what I do? What’s all this I ’ear about a round robin to the guy’nor?”
“Fond of game, isn’t he?”
“Look ’ere,” said the van foreman seriously, “I’m not going to bemean meself by talking to you. I’ve spoken to some of the others, and I’ve told them there’s the sack for every man jack of ’em that signs it. I give no such warning to you, mind: I simply turn me back on you, like this.”
“Your back view’s bad enough,” called Erb as the other went off; “but your front view’s something awful.”
“I was a better lookin’ chap than you,” called the van foreman hotly, “once.”
“Once ain’t often,” said Erb.
He backed his van into position, and was about to cry, “Chain on!” but William Henry had anticipated the order, and had, moreover, fetched from the booking-up desk the long white delivery sheet, with its entries of names and addresses.
William Henry also assisted in loading up the parcels with more than usual alacrity, that he might have a few minutes in which to saunter about with an air of unconcern and pick up news concerning possible vacancies. The carmen who had finished their work of loading, went up to the further end of the arch, waiting for the hour of twenty to nine, and snatching the opportunity for discussing a matter of public interest. Erb followed, watched keenly by the van foreman.
“Got the document, Erb?”