“Yes,” said Uncle Paul, without taking his eyes from the sergeant’s face.
“And there I found out something else.”
Uncle Paul was silent, and Rodd’s heart went on now in a steady thump—thump—thump—thump.
“Thought I’d come on, sir,” said the sergeant, turning back to the door, going outside, and returning with Rodd’s creel, which he slowly opened and took from within, neatly folded up, the canvas wallet. “Belong to you gentlemen, don’t they?”
“Yes,” said Uncle Paul slowly; “those are ours. Well?”
Rodd’s heart now seemed to stand quite still till the sergeant replied to his uncle’s query.
“That’s all, sir; that’s all,” said the sergeant, and Rodd’s heart went on again. “You had left them behind, and I thought I’d bring them on.”
“Thank you,” said Uncle Paul quietly. “Very good of you, and I am much obliged.”
“Don’t name it, sir. Going to have another fine day, and hope the young gentleman here will have plenty more sport. There’s a lot of trout up there, only they are terrible small. Good-morning, gentlemen.”
“Good-morning, sergeant,” said Uncle Paul quietly, and Rodd’s mouth opened a little and then shut, but no sound came. “Wait a moment, sergeant,” continued Uncle Paul, thrusting his hand into his pocket and feeling about amongst some five-and-twenty or thirty coins, all of which felt too small, for he wanted a larger one; but feeling that, he took hold of three together, when something made him stop short with his hand half out of his pocket, and he thrust it back again. “Dear me,” he said, quickly now, “I really have no change.”