Abner felt for his purse: he knew that the doctor’s fee had only left him a few coppers loose in his pocket. A panic seized him. He could not find it. He turned to Mary.
‘You got my purse?’
‘No, I’ve never seen it.’
‘There was a quid in it. I must have put it in my waistcoat. Wait a moment, gaffer. . . . God! my watch is gone too!’
‘Don’t get moithered now,’ she urged.
But though he searched everywhere he could not find it. He appealed again to Mary, but she had no money, not a single penny. Abner had nothing but a handful of coppers left.
‘They must have took both of them . . . picked my pocket!’ he said.
She advised him to look again, but it was useless. ‘While we was standing up again’ those railings,’ he muttered, ‘talking to that gipsy woman. It’s gone right enough. Not a bloody cent except this!’ He threw the coppers on the sill of the booking window.
‘Had your pocket picked?’ said the station-master with a laugh. ‘It’s not the first time that’s happened at Bron Fair!’ A bell clanged in the signal box, and a porter peered at them through the door with a stupid, rustic face.
‘Can’t you let us have a ticket on strap?’ Abner asked.