"Tha'rt particular, my lad," dryly. "An' tha does na know as much o' th' mester koind as most folk." But the next instant he flung down the tool he held in his hand. "Dom thee!" he cried. "I loike thy pluck. Stick to it, lad,—mesters or no mesters."
As Murdoch crossed the threshold of his room, Jem Haworth turned in his seat and greeted him with a short nod not altogether combative. Then he leaned forward, with his arms upon the table before him.
"Sit down," he said. "I'd like to take a look at the chap who thought he could thrash Jem Haworth."
But Murdoch did not obey him.
"I suppose you have something to say to me," he said, "as you sent for me."
He did not receive the answer he was prepared for. Jem Haworth burst into a loud laugh.
"By George! you're a plucky chap," he said, "if you are an American."
Murdoch's blood rose again.
"Say what you have to say," he demanded. "I can guess what it is; but, let me tell you, I should do the same thing again. It was no fault of mine that I was in your path——"
"If I'd been such a fool as not to see that," put in Haworth, with a smile grimmer than before, "do you think I couldn't have smashed every bone in your body?"
Then Murdoch comprehended how matters were to stand between them.
"Getten th' bag?" asked Floxham when he went back to his work.
"No."
"Tha hannot?" with animation. "Well, dang me!"
At the close of the day, as they were preparing to leave
