He leant over the taproom table and thought visibly on the subject of my trustworthiness. I was relieved at last by his confidence.
“I was engaged once,” he said at last, with a reminiscent eye on the shuv-a'penny board.
“So near as that?”
He looked at me. “So near as that. Fact is—” He looked about him, brought his face close to mine, lowered his voice, and fenced off an unsympathetic world with a grimy hand. “If she ain't dead or married to some one else or anything—I'm engaged still. Now.” He confirmed this statement with nods and facial contortions. “STILL,” he said, ending the pantomime, and broke into a reckless smile at my surprise. “ME!”
“Run away,” he explained further, with coruscating eyebrows. “Come 'ome.
“That ain't all.
“You'd 'ardly believe it,” he said, “but I found a treasure. Found a regular treasure.”
I fancied this was irony, and did not, perhaps, greet it with proper surprise. “Yes,” he said, “I found a treasure. And come 'ome. I tell you I could surprise you with things that has happened to me.” And for some time he was content to repeat that he had found a treasure—and left it.
I made no vulgar clamour for a story, but I became attentive to Mr. Brisher's bodily needs, and presently I led him back to the deserted lady.
“She was a nice girl,” he said—a little sadly, I thought. “AND respectable.”