“A man might stay a beggar all his life if he depended upon such trade,” spoke Sugden.
Surprised at so much sympathy, the man began to make a detailed statement of his complaint, and was still more surprised that he was listened to. When he had done, Hawkins spoke again.
“So it goes,” said he. “Seldom, indeed, do we get justice done us. Now you,” cocking a knowing eye at the landlord, “are a fellow who might make a trifle in other ways beside innkeeping. The wonder is that you have not tried.”
“Stuck here in this place, what can I do? And nothing ever comes this way that has any money attached to it.”
Hawkins shook his head.
“Perhaps you are wrong there,” said he. “I dare venture that many a time there’s been a goodly sum, only awaiting the earning of it, right here in this very room.”
“Them as had it kept it mighty close, then,” said the landlord.
“It may not have been that. Who knows but that it was you who closed your eyes to the chance? Why, for all you can see, there may be as much as you’d earn in a six-month, here to-night, at your hand.”
For a moment there was silence; the lean claw of the landlord stroked his chin and his small, sharp eyes looked into those of Tobias Hawkins.
“Maybe I don’t take your meaning, sir,” said he, “and then, maybe I do. But I will say this for myself: If there is such a sum here to-night that I can be in the way of earning, why, I’m the man for it.”