Part 39 (2/2)
Joe scratched his head.
”Don't you see now?” cried Gwyn.
”Beginning to: not quite,” said Joe, still in the same confused way.
Then, with a start, he gave his leg a hearty slap. ”Why, of course,” he cried, ”I see it all clearly enough now. You step on and go down, and then step on and go up, and then you step on--and step on. Oh, I say, how is it the thing does work after all?”
”Why you--” began Gwyn, roaring with laughter the while, but Joe interrupted him.
”No, no; I've got it all right now. I see clearly enough. But it is puzzling. What an obstinate old block you were, Ydoll.”
”Eh? Oh, come, I like that,” cried Gwyn. ”Why you--” Then seeing the mirthful look on his companion's face he clapped him on the shoulder.
”You did stick to it, though, that it wouldn't go, and no mistake.”
”Well, I couldn't see it anyhow. It was a regular puzzle,” said Joe, frankly. ”But I say, Tom Dina.s.s, what made you call these man-engines melancholy things?”
”'Cause of the mischief they doos, sir. I do hope you won't have one here.”
”Why? What mischief do they do?” cried Gwyn.
”Kills the poor lads sometimes. Lad doesn't step on or off at the right time, and he gets chopped between the step and the platform. It's awful then. 'Bliged to be so very careful.”
”Man who goes down a mine ought to be very careful.”
”O' course, sir; but they things are horrid bad. I don't like 'em.”
”But they can't be so dangerous as ladders, or going down in a bucket at the end of a string or chain; you might fall, or the chain might break.
Such things do happen,” said Gwyn.
”Ay, sir, they do sometimes; but I don't like a farkun. Accident's an accident, and you must have some; but these are horrid, and we shall be having some accident with that dog of yours if we don't mind.”
”Accident?” said Gwyn. ”What do you mean?”
”He'll be a-biting me, and I shall have to go into horspittle.”
”Oh, he won't hurt you,” cried Gwyn.
”Don't know so much about that, sir,” said the man, grinning. ”I should say if he did bite he would hurt me a deal. Must have a precious nice pair o' legs, or he wouldn't keep smelling 'em as he does, and then stand licking his jaws.”
”I tell you he won't hurt you,” cried Gwyn. ”Here, Grip--come away.”
The dog looked up at his master, and pa.s.sed his tongue about his lower jaw.
”Look at that, sir,” said Dina.s.s, laughing; but there was a peculiar look in his eyes. ”Strikes me as he'd eat cold meat any day without pickles.”
”I'll take care he sha'n't bite your legs, with or without pickles,”
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