CHAPTER 10.
Ax in hand, Wardour approached Frank's bed-place.
"If I could only cut the thoughts out of me," he said to himself, "as I am going to cut the billets out of this wood!" He attacked the bed-place with the ax, like a man who well knew the use of his instrument.

"Oh me!" he thought, sadly, "if I had only been born a carpenter instead of a gentleman! A good ax, Master Bateson--I wonder where you got it?
Something like a grip, my man, on this handle.

Poor Crayford! his words stick in my throat.

A fine fellow! a noble fellow! No use thinking, no use regretting; what is said, is said.

Work! work! work!" Plank after plank fell out on the floor.