"You're always wasting time, and I won't have it.

Your master's out, and I won't have it.

Get on.

I'll have that pile o' rails done before you leave off to-night; so no more shirking, do you hear ?" A feeling of fierce resentment made the convict's nerves quiver; but he thought of Nic, and, controlling his anger, he took a step or two to the block on which he cut the rails, picked up one, and gave it a couple of chops.
"Quicker there, lout!" roared Brookes; "and none of your sulky looks with me." The convict took up another rail, while Brookes stood over him with the fork-shaft playing up and down in his hand; while, emboldened by the other's meekness, he went on with a brutal tirade of abuse, calling up every insulting expression he could think of, and garnishing them with bad language, till the convict winced as if under blows.
"Trying to humbug me with your lying gammon about the axe.

It's as sharp as sharp." "It is not, sir," cried the convict, angrily now.