“‘Do you want it for a pleasure party?’ you ask him, and he laughs again in a way that makes you like him more.
“‘I don’t know but what you might call it that,’ says he. ‘I and my friends will take great pleasure in it; but I have a suspicion that there are some others who will not like it so well.’
“He looks at you closely,” continued the cobbler to Nat, who was listening with great attention, “and he sees that you’re not taking to the idea very keenly. So with that he whips out a leathern purse and counts out a sum of money upon the window sill such as you have not seen in months.
“‘There,’ he says, ‘is your pay in advance. Have the barge at the ferry landing across the river and await me and those who shall bear me company.’”
The cobbler arose and came closer to the window, brushing the scraps of leather from his apron. He peered up at Nat with his small eyes.
“Somehow,” he proceeded, “for all the lad has an honest look and a merry laugh, you don’t care to do what he asks. There seems something secret about it. But at the same time there is the money—all Spanish gold—on the window sill, staring you out of countenance.” The speaker paused a moment, then asked earnestly: “Now, if all these things happened to you—and remember you are a poor man—what would you do?”
“I think,” replied Nat, “I would try to earn the money.”
The shoemaker nodded and seemed much relieved.
“There are some lads,” remarked he, “who have more wisdom than their years give them. I think you are one of that stamp. That is the very thing I did. Promptly at ten, for it was a still night and I could hear the town bells strike the hour, I was at the landing upon the other side.”
“Yes,” said Nat, so eagerly that the watching dwarf gave him a warning prod with his knuckles. “And what then?”