“No—he don’t drink. But he do smoke, and he has little genteel ways with him, and four shillings goes on ‘em. And they have been about the country this spring, and done well, and now they be here. But Rugge behaves shocking hard to both on ‘em: and I don’t believe he has any right to her in law, as he pretends,—only a sort of understanding which she and her grandfather could break if they pleased; and that’s what they wish to do, and that’s why little Sophy wants the three pounds.”
“How?” cried Lionel, eagerly. “If they had three pounds could they get away? and if they did, how could they live? Where could they go?”
“That’s their secret. But I heard Waife say—the first night they came here—I that if he could get three pounds, he had hit on a plan to be independent like. I tell you what put his back up: it was Rugge insisting on his coming on the stage agin, for he did not like to be seen such a wreck. But he was forced to give in; and so he contrived to cut up that play-story, and appear hisself at the last without speaking.”
“My good friend,” cried young Lionel, “we are greatly obliged to you for your story; and we should much like to see little Sophy and her grandfather at your house to-morrow,—can we?”
“Certain sure you can, after the play’s over; to-night, if you like.”
“No, to-morrow: you see my friend is impatient to get back now; we will call to-morrow.”
“‘T is the last day of their stay,” said the Cobbler. “But you can’t be sure to see them safely at my house afore ten o’clock at night; and not a word to Rugge! mum!”
“Not a word to Rugge,” returned Lionel; “good-night to you.”
The young men left the Cobbler still seated on the milestone, gazing on the stars and ruminating. They walked briskly down the road.
“It is I who have had the talk now,” said Lionel, in his softest tone. He was bent on coaxing three pounds out of his richer friend, and that might require some management. For amongst the wild youngsters in Mr. Vance’s profession, there ran many a joke at the skill with which he parried irregular assaults on his purse; and that gentleman, with his nose more than usually in the air, having once observed to such scoffers “that they were quite welcome to any joke at his expense,” a wag had exclaimed, “At your expense! Don’t fear; if a joke were worth a farthing, you would never give that permission.”