“I did not,” said Kit. “All I wanted was for Colvin to see he mustn’t suspect Tom. Who did steal the plans is another thing, and my business is not to find out. If Colvin solves the puzzle, he’s cleverer than I thought——”
He stopped, for although he had played up, his part was hard. It looked as if Mabel doubted Tom, but Kit did not really know. Anyhow, she would not let her husband down and he agreed that she ought not.
“But suppose Colvin thinks you the man? He’d refuse to take you back,” she said.
Kit smiled, and his smile was easier, for he was now on ground he knew.
“After all, to leave the yard would not bother me much. Shipbuilding gets monotonous and perhaps I have a talent for music. Anyhow, I like to play the fiddle, and when I’m in the vein, I’m not a bad clown. Labor’s dreary and people like a joke and a merry tale; sometimes they reward the joker. Well, I think I’ll copy the old minstrels and take the road with my pack and lute.”
“To let a good post go is not a joke,” said Mrs. Blake. “You must think soberly!”
“If Colvin has no more use for me, thinking won’t help, and one can be sober when one is old. Then, if a musician’s not foolishly modest he need not starve. A pal of mine in America got a good push off because he could play in the band. The town didn’t pay the bandsmen, but somebody found them soft jobs. A soft job and leisure to study the drum or the cornet is about my mark.”
Mrs. Blake smiled. When Kit joked one was forced to smile, but tears were near her eyes and her hands were not still.
“Oh, Kit!” she said, “your pluck is very fine!”
“I wonder——” said Kit. “On the whole, I think I’d sooner trust my luck. But I mustn’t philosophize; I must get my train.”