“Should you think, now, that a girl would wait four years for a chap who, in the eyes of the world, was not worth waiting for?”
The fisherman, not being an absolute fool, knew that there was only one answer to give. But he was a kind-hearted man, so he told a lie. There was something about this convict that made him do it.
“Yes; I should think she would. Girls are not always rational, I guess.”
The other said nothing. He took the mackintosh-coat and the creel and the rod-case without a word—even of thanks. His manners were brisker, as if the angler's lie had done him good. The change of costume was now complete, and the convict would pass anywhere for an innocent disciple of Isaac Walton.
For a moment they stood thus, looking at each other. Then the convict spoke.
“Can you lend me a fiver?” he asked.
“Oh yes!”
Carelessly opening his purse, and displaying a good number of bank-notes, he passed one to the unsteady hand held out.
“Want any more?” he asked, with a queer laugh.
“I'll take another if you can spare it.”