That there Leather's no good at all.

I have to do all the work, and I won't stand it." "Why, I thought Leather did more than you," cried Nic.

"I noticed it as we came; but you always grumbled at him." Samson showed his yellow teeth and chuckled.
"Don't you be sarcy, sir," growled Brookes; "and what are you crowin' at, old Sam?
You needn't begin makin' a noise like a laughin' jackass.
Something's going to be changed, or I goes to another station." "Goin' now ?" shouted Samson, as the man strode off angrily.
"Never you mind," growled Brookes; and he disappeared round a barn-like structure.
"He's got his knife into Leather," said Samson, chuckling.

"Strange, disagreeable sort o' chap, Brookes, sir.

Leather's sour as Devon crabs; but I will say this on him: he do work, and work well.