Great Expectations - Page 97/421

"Why, what'll you do with a half-holiday, if you get it?" said Joe.

"What'll I do with it! What'll he do with it? I'll do as much with it as

him," said Orlick.

"As to Pip, he's going up town," said Joe.

"Well then, as to Old Orlick, he's a going up town," retorted that

worthy. "Two can go up town. Tain't only one wot can go up town.

"Don't lose your temper," said Joe.

"Shall if I like," growled Orlick. "Some and their up-towning! Now,

master! Come. No favoring in this shop. Be a man!"

The master refusing to entertain the subject until the journeyman was in

a better temper, Orlick plunged at the furnace, drew out a red-hot

bar, made at me with it as if he were going to run it through my body,

whisked it round my head, laid it on the anvil, hammered it out,--as

if it were I, I thought, and the sparks were my spirting blood,--and

finally said, when he had hammered himself hot and the iron cold, and he

again leaned on his hammer,-"Now, master!"

"Are you all right now?" demanded Joe.

"Ah! I am all right," said gruff Old Orlick.

"Then, as in general you stick to your work as well as most men," said

Joe, "let it be a half-holiday for all."

My sister had been standing silent in the yard, within hearing,--she was

a most unscrupulous spy and listener,--and she instantly looked in at

one of the windows.

"Like you, you fool!" said she to Joe, "giving holidays to great idle

hulkers like that. You are a rich man, upon my life, to waste wages in

that way. I wish I was his master!"

"You'd be everybody's master, if you durst," retorted Orlick, with an

ill-favored grin.

("Let her alone," said Joe.) "I'd be a match for all noodles and all rogues," returned my sister,

beginning to work herself into a mighty rage. "And I couldn't be a

match for the noodles, without being a match for your master, who's the

dunder-headed king of the noodles. And I couldn't be a match for the

rogues, without being a match for you, who are the blackest-looking and

the worst rogue between this and France. Now!"

"You're a foul shrew, Mother Gargery," growled the journeyman. "If that

makes a judge of rogues, you ought to be a good'un."