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Instead of taking them into the centre of town, the old man brought them to his farm. From the looks of things, there were sheep, cows, and chickens. There was a very good chance that the fellow was going to provide them with the necessary employment.
The four friends jumped off the side of the cart, landing their boots in the dirt. The old man walked around and finally introduced himself.
“They call me Anders.”
Bo teased, “Are you from Norway?”
Anders shook his head. “My father was. I’m entirely British.”
Anders led them down a gravel path and to the back of his modest home. In the back, there was a large pasture where the aforementioned animals grazed. A cow mooed.
They were led to a small, ramshackle farmhouse. Anders said, “I imagine you know why I brought you here. Able-bodied men are hard to come by.”
Jimmy got down to business. “What do you need done, old chap?”
“Well, as you can see,” Anders motioned towards the farmhouse. “This has been neglected for years. Haven’t been able to fix it since my sons went away.”
Patrick instantly pitied Anders. How could an old man run such a farm by himself?
Patrick stepped in. “We can have it done in a week.” Bo elbowed him in the side, and Patrick whispered back to Bo, “What?”
Bo spoke under his breath. “Tell him two weeks. We need the money.”
It was dishonest to lie to the old man, especially when Patrick knew the job could be done in one week with four sets of strong arms. He ignored Bo.
“One week is all it takes.”
A smile came to Anders’ lips. “That sounds about right. Five quid.”
The men looked at each other. For Patrick, that seemed like an adequate sum to live on for a couple of weeks. He nodded his head in agreement and shook Anders’ hand.
“I’ll feed and house you boys, to boot.” Anders nodded his head.
From the warm look in his eyes, Patrick assumed Anders to be a trustworthy man, and all said, it was a perfect way to spend the week.
Anders led them inside the ramshackle barn where they would be housed. He promised two warm meals a day, one served in the morning and then a luncheon. The boys were on their own when it came to tea and supper. They’d begin work at five in the morning, just after the cock crowed, and breakfast would be provided at seven.
“I’ll leave you now,” Anders said. “You begin work in the morning.”
“Say there.” Bo stepped forward. “Is there any sort of tavern here in Hamel? To procure supper, of course.”
“That there is.” Anders motioned with his head. “The Hound’s Bone is open all day. Merely go down the road to your right, and you’ll discover it within a quarter hour’s walk.”
Bo grinned. “Perfect.”
Patrick knew what Bo had in mind. He wished to get drunk that night. Not that that was conducive to getting up at five in the morning to work, but the men had done it for so long, their bodies were primed.
They left at once, the four of them walking down the road as coaches passed. Within the allotted amount of time, the Hound’s Bone’s red bricks appeared just off the main road— the sign hanging over the door announcing the establishment.
“Here we go!” Bo clapped Ned’s back, causing him to cough, and entered the tavern first.
Inside, it was just the kind of warm, dark interior that you’d often find in a tavern. Bo went directly to the wooden bar, and the other men followed. Off in the corner, a game of darts and a table for cards. The interior was filled with the aroma of smoke, meat, and ale. It was going to be a fine evening, indeed.
They each took a stool at the bar, in the order of Jimmy, Bo, Ned, and Patrick at the corner. The barman quickly approached, a burly, bear-like man with black eyes.
His voice was deep and hoarse. “What are we having there then?” he asked, leaning his thick elbow onto the bar.
Bo took the lead. “What’s your name there, my friend?”
