Part 52 (1/2)
”They have to pay through the nose for all they get, but bishops and landlords get all their good things chucked in gratuitous. Of course a bishop's more toney, but a publican sees more of life--honours, meaning good tucker and liquor, divided.”
Tresco attacked the juicy steak: his satisfaction finding expression in murmurs of approval. He finished the stout with as much relish as if it had been the richest wine; and then Gentle Annie took from the cupboard two gla.s.s dishes, the one half-filled with luscious red plums swimming in their own juice, the other containing junket.
Tresco had almost forgotten the taste of such food. While he was eating it Gentle Annie made some tea.
”Is this the way you treat the toffs, when they come to see you?”
”Toffs? You're the greatest toff that has come to see me, so far.”
”I shall come again.”
”Do you know there's a reward offered for you?”
”How much?”
”Twenty pounds.”
”Is that all? I'll give it you, my dear.”
From his dirty rags he pulled out a small linen bag, from which he emptied upon a clean plate a little pile of nuggets.
Gentle Annie was lost in wonderment. Her eyes glistened, and she turned the pieces of gold over with her finger covetously.
”These should go close on 4 to the ounce,” remarked the goldsmith, as he separated with the blade of a table-knife a portion of the gold equal to what he guessed to be five ounces, and the remainder he replaced in the bag.
”That's for you,” he said, pus.h.i.+ng the plate towards her.
Gentle Annie gleefully took the gold in her hands.
”You generous old party!” she exclaimed. ”I know when I am well off.”
They now drank tea out of dainty cups, and Benjamin took a pipe and tobacco from his pocket.
”I really must have a smoke to settle my dinner,” he said.
”Of course,” said she; ”it was only my fun. I smoke myself.” Taking a packet from the mantelpiece, she lighted a cigarette, which she handed to Tresco, when a low knock was heard at the door.
In a moment she had blown out the light, and led the erring goldsmith to her inner room, where he stood, apprehensive but alert. From his belt he drew a knife, and then he furtively examined the fastenings of the muslin-draped window.
He heard his hostess open the door and speak to her visitor, who replied in a deep voice, at some length. But, presently, the door closed, the steps of the visitor were heard departing, and Gentle Annie softly entered the room.
”You're quite safe,” she said.
”Who was it?”
”Only a friend of mine. He's gone. He won't call again to-night.”
CHAPTER XXIX.