Gammon! If she keeps on that way I'll just cut. See how the
workus fellahs 'ill like _that_!'
'The Doctor gives his services for nothing,' I said.
'An' _does_ nothin', bless him! ha, ha. No more nor that old deaf gammon
there that costs me three tizzies a week, and haint worth a h'porth--no
more nor Meg there, that's making all she can o' them pains. They be all a
foolin' o' me, an' thinks I don't know't. Hey? _we_'ll see.'
All this time he was cutting a bit of tobacco into shreds on the
window-stone.
'A workin' man be same as a hoss; if he baint cared, he can't work--'tisn't
in him:' and with these words, having by this time stuffed his pipe with
tobacco, he poked the deaf lady, who was pattering about with her back
toward him, rather viciously with the point of his stick, and signed for a
light.
'It baint in him, you can't get it out o' 'im, no more nor ye'll draw smoke
out o' this,' and he raised his pipe an inch or two, with his thumb on the
bowl, 'without backy and fire. 'Tisn't in it.'
'Maybe I can be of some use?' I said, thinking.
'Maybe,' he rejoined.
By this time he received from the old deaf abigail a flaming roll of brown
paper, and, touching his hat to me, he withdrew, lighting his pipe and
sending up little white puffs, like the salute of a departing ship.
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