"
"Some diachylum plaster, Mr. Beer?" says Heale, meekly. "What for,
then?"
"To tackle my shins. I barked 'em cruel against King Arthur's nose
last night. Hard in the bone he is;--wish I was as hard."
"How much diachylum will you want, then, Mr. Beer?"
"Well, I don't know. Let's see!" and Jan pulls up his blue trousers,
and pulls down his grey rig and furrows, and considers his broad and
shaggy shins.
"Matter of four pennies broad: two to each leg;" and then replaces his
elbows, and smokes on.
"I say, Doctor, that 'ere curate come out well last night. I shall go
to church next Sunday."
"What," asks the satellite, "after you upset he that fashion
yesterday?"
"I don't care what you thinks;" says Jan, who, of course, bullies his
jackal, like most lions: "but I goes to church. He's a good 'un, say
I,--little and good, like a Welshman's cow; and clapped me on the back
when we'd got the man and the maid safe, and says,--'Well done our
side, old fellow!' and stands something hot all round, what's more, in
at the Mariner's Rest.--I say, Doctor, where's he as we hauled ashore?
I'll go up and see 'un."
"Not now, then, Mr. Beer; not now, then. He's sleeping, indeed he is,
like any child."
"So much the better. We wain't be bothered with his hollering. But go
up I will. Do ye let me now; I'll be as still as a maid."
And Jan kicked off his shoes, and marched on tip-toe through the shop,
while Dr.
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