“And don’t always pay for it,” said Polly sharply.
I saw Mercer’s face change, and I recalled what he had said about credit.
“Why—er—” he began.
“Oh, I don’t mean you, sir, and I won’t mention any names, but I think young gen’lemen as drinks our ginger-beer ought to pay, and father says so too.”
I glanced at Mercer, whose face was now scarlet, and, seeing that he was thinking about what he had said respecting credit, I quietly slipped my hand into my pocket and got hold of a shilling.
“It is beautiful ginger-beer,” I said, after another draught.
“Beautiful,” said Mercer dismally, but he gave quite a start and then his eyes shone brightly as he glanced at me gratefully, for I had handed the shilling to the keeper’s daughter, who took it to a jug on the chimney-piece, dropped it in, and then shook out some half-pence from a cracked glass and gave me my change.
“Here, put your biscuits in your pocket, Burr,” cried Mercer, “and we’ll go on now.”
Saying which, he set the example, finished his ginger-beer, and made the keeper’s daughter smile by declaring it was better than ever.
“Glad you like it, sir; and of course you know I didn’t mean you, as I’ve trusted before, and will again, because you always pay.”