arshoot dog.

"We don't stop at Hasha, then?" Dicky asked, and let the Farshoot fasten
on his leggings.

Holgate swung round and eyed Dicky curiously, a queer smile at his lips.

"Not if Goovnur can 'elp, aw give ye ma woord, sir," answered Holgate.

Fielding was affectionately called "the Governor" by his subordinates
and friends.

"We all have our likes and dislikes," rejoined Dicky casually, and blew
smoke in the eyes of the Farshoot. "Aye, aw've seen places that bad! but
Hasha has taaste of its own in Goovnur's mouth, ma life on't!"

"Never can tell when a thing'll pall on the taste. Hasha's turn with the
Governor now, eh?" rejoined Dicky.

Dicky's way of getting information seemed guileless, and Holgate opened
his basket as wide as he knew. "Toorn, didst tha sway" (Holgate talked
broadly to Dicky always, for Dicky had told him of his aunt, Lady
Carmichael, who lived near Halifax in Yorkshire), "toorn, aw warrant! It
be reg'lar as kitchen-fire, this Hasha business, for three years, ever
sin' aw been scrapin' mud o' Nile River."

"That was a nasty row they had over the cemetery three years ago, the
Governor against the lot, from mamour to wekeel!"

Holgate's eyes flashed, and he looked almost angrily down at Dicky,
whose hand was between the teeth of the playful Farshoot.

"Doost think--noa, tha canst not think that Goovnur be 'feared o' Hasha
fook. Thinks't tha, a man that told 'em all--a thousand therr--that he'd
hang on nearest tree the foorst that disobeyed him, thinks't tha that
Goovnur's lost his nerve by that?"

"The Governor never loses his nerve, Holgate," said Dicky, smiling and
offering a cigar. "There's such a thing as a man being afraid to trust
himself where he's been in a mess, lest he hit out, and doesn't want
to."

Holgate, being excited, was in a fit state to tell the truth, if he knew
it; which was what Dicky had worked for; but Holgate only said:

"It bean't fear, and it bean't milk o' human kindness. It be soort o'
thing a man gets. Aw had it once i' Bradford, in Little Cornish Street.
Aw saw a faace look out o' window o' hoose by tinsmith's shop, an' that
faace was like hell's picture-aye, 'twas a killiagous faace that! Aw
never again could pass that house. 'Twas a woman's faace. Horrible
'twas, an' sore sad an' flootered aw were, for t' faace was like a lass
aw loved when aw wur a lad."

"I should think it was something like that," answered Dicky, his eyes
wandering over the pe