w ' CANT ' AGAIN 239 



' "There ain't no hurry," he says. "Only I 

 p;ot the missis bad In house an' an't got nort for 

 her. An' the kids be crying. ... I come'd away 

 out o'lt, I an't told no man. . . ." 



' "Look here," I says, like T did afore. "Why 

 doesn't go back to thy work? 'Tisn't only 

 thyself. . . ." 



'An' he says, "Can't I" again. 



'"What?" 



' "I dursen't," he says, "I an't never troubled 

 no one wl' my private affairs. . . . The doctor told 

 me as how I should be dead in two years if I 

 didn't get outdoor work." 



' "Well, thee 'astn't got it." 



* "No, I an't." 



' "An' It don't do," I tells 'en, "to listen too 

 much to what they doctors says. They don' know 

 always." 



'He poked his face up Into mine — proper 

 ghastly he looked there In the dark, sure 'nuff. 

 "But I know'd 'twas true," he said. "I know'd 

 It; felt It In meself. Thee ca'st feel things like 

 that, thee's know." 



' "Why dl'sn't tell anybody?" I says. "Then 

 p'raps a fellow could ha' put summut In thy way, 

 if he know'd how 'twas." 



