“Oh, there’s no need for that, sir,” said the sergeant.
“Yes, yes,” said Uncle Paul. “Rodd, my boy, have you half-a-crown in your pocket?”
“I think so, uncle,” said the boy quickly; and then his face looked blank. “No, uncle; I haven’t anything at all,” he cried in dismay.
“Oh, pray don’t mind, sir,” said the sergeant, moving to the door. “Good-morning, sir; good-morning. I don’t want paying for a little thing like that.”
“Stop, please,” said Uncle Paul hurriedly. “Rodd, my boy, go and ask Mrs Champernowne if she’ll be kind enough to lend me half-a-crown.”
Rodd hurried out, feeling exceedingly hot, and with a peculiar moisture in the palms of his hands, returning directly afterwards with the required coin, though the unexpected demand had made their landlady open her eyes rather widely.
“There, that’s right, sergeant,” said Uncle Paul, “and I am sure my nephew is much obliged. He wouldn’t have liked to lose that creel.”
“Thank you, sir. Very glad I found it. Good-morning once more.”
The man saluted both, giving Rodd a very peculiar look which seemed to go through him, and then turning upon his heels, he marched out of the room and shut the door, while Uncle Paul sank back in his chair, took out a clean red and yellow silk handkerchief, and wiped his forehead.
“Rodney, my boy,” he said, “I felt as if we had been doing something underhanded, and nearly brought out three of those napoleons to pay that man.”