“You’re doing well,” said the sergeant.
“It’s good gravel, so it is, the best.”
“It may be good gravel,” said the sergeant, “but the gentleman that’s buying it will buy it dear if you take the half of every load you bring in home in the evening and fetch it here again the next morning along with a little more.”
The sergeant stared at the gravel in the boat as he spoke. His face had cleared, and the look of suspicion had left his eyes. Sweeny, so his instinct told him, must be engaged in some kind of wrongdoing.
Now he understood what it was. The gentleman up the country was to be defrauded of half the gravel he paid for. Curiously enough, considering that his wrongdoing had been detected, the look of anxiety left Kinsella’s face. He sucked at his pipe, found that it had gone out, and slipped it into his waistcoat pocket.
“If neither Sweeny nor the gentleman is making any complaint,” he said, “it would suit you to keep your mouth shut.”
“I’m not blaming you,” said the sergeant “Sure, anybody’d do the same if they got the chance.”
“If there’s people in the world,” said Kinsella, “that hasn’t sense enough to see that they get what they pay for, oughtn’t we to be thankful for it?”
“You’re right there,” said the sergeant
Kinsella took out his pipe and lit it again. Sergeant Rafferty after examining the sea with attentive scrutiny for some minutes, strolled back towards his barracks.