There was a pause before the answer came, and when it was spoken there was much in the careless tone which implied that too much reliance was not to be placed on the truthfulness of the reply.
“Oh, say John Smith.”
“I can’t take it at all unless you give me your real name,” said the pawnbroker, sharply. I have no doubt my presence put a little edge on him. “How am I to know,” he virtuously added, “that the watch is not stolen?”
“Stolen?” echoed the stranger, warmly. “Man, there’s the name of the man I bought it frae;” and he turned out a watch-paper inserted under the back. I could not see the name, but I did make out the words “Berwick-on-Tweed.” “I’m no a thief—I’m a brassfounder to trade,” continued the man, with energy, “and I expect to lift it again in a week or two.”
“A brassfounder?” I thought, with a start. “I wonder if his name is Smeaton?”
While I was wondering the bargain was concluded, and the money paid over, and then the man left. I left my box at the same moment, and we moved out together.
“It’s a nice morning,” he said, and I returned the greeting.
When we reached the street he turned northwards, and I decided that that was my way too.
“I heard you say you are a brassfounder,” I remarked. “You’ll be looking for a job?”
No, he didn’t think he was—he meant to lie quiet for a little.