That was in the nature of a very broad hint, but Rebecca had anticipated it and had the shilling already prepared and ready to slip into his other hand.
"Thanks, miss!"
With remarkable alacrity Thomas James had "downed tools" and disappeared into Brannagan's. Rebecca could hear the swish of his pint as she went by the door after having remained a few moments looking at the lurid circus-bills. Inside, Mrs. Brannagan, the publican and victualler's wife, took notice that he possessed the air of a man bent upon business.
"Ah, it's how I'm going to do a little message for the assistant schoolmistress," he said, taking his matutinal pinch of salt, for this was his first pint and one could never tell what might happen.
"Is that so?"
"Aye, indeed; a letter to young Shannon."
"Well now? And why for wouldn't it do to send it by the post?"
"Ah, mebbe that way wouldn't be grand enough for her. Mebbe it is what it would be too chape—a penny, you know, for the stamp, and this costs a shilling for the porter. Give us another volume of this, Mrs. Brannagan, if you please? Ha-ha-ha!" He laughed loudly, but without any mirth, at his own joke and the peculiar blend of subtlety by which he had marked it.
Mrs. Brannagan was all anxiety and excitement about the letter.
"Well now, just imagine!" she said to herself about forty times as she filled the second pint for Thomas James. Then she rose up from her bent posture at the half barrel and, placing the drink before him on the bar, said: