"'Tisn't, no; an' often that sour you can 'ardly eat it. When first I
started I couldn't eat the skilly nor the bread, but now I can eat my own
an' another man's portion."
"I could eat three other men's portions," said the Carter. "I 'aven't
'ad a bit this blessed day."
"Then what?"
"Then you've got to do your task, pick four pounds of oakum, or clean an'
scrub, or break ten to eleven hundredweight o' stones. I don't 'ave to
break stones; I'm past sixty, you see. They'll make you do it, though.
You're young an' strong."
"What I don't like," grumbled the Carter, "is to be locked up in a cell
to pick oakum. It's too much like prison."
"But suppose, after you've had your night's sleep, you refuse to pick
oakum, or break stones, or do any work at all?" I asked.
"No fear you'll refuse the second time; they'll run you in," answered the
Carpenter. "Wouldn't advise you to try it on, my lad."
"Then comes dinner," he went on. "Eight ounces of bread, one and a arf
ounces of cheese, an' cold water. Then you finish your task an' 'ave
supper, same as before, three parts o' skilly any six ounces o' bread.
Then to bed, six o'clock, an' next mornin' you're turned loose, provided
you've finished your task.
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