The master's about somewhere, I take it .-- Picky, go and find the master." Picky was one of the Polynesians, who at once started on his errand.
"Have you been over to Gangoil since you left it ?" said Harry, looking the man full in the face.
"Not I, Mr.Heathcote.I never go where I've had words.

And, to tell you the truth, sugar is better than sheep.

I'm very comfortable here, and I never liked your work." "You haven't been at the wool-shed ?" "What, the Gangoil shed! What the blazes 'd I go there for?
It's a matter of ten miles from here." "Seven, Nokes." "Seven, is it?
It is a longish seven miles, Mr.Heathcote.How could I get that distance?
I ain't so good at walking as I was before I was hurt.

You should have remembered that, Mr.Heathcote, when you laid hands on me the other day." "You're not much the worse for what I did; nor yet for the accident, I take it.

At any rate, you've not been at Gangoil wool-shed ?" "No, I've not," said the man, roughly.