“That’s what he called it.”
“Did you have that money when I saw you coming out of the tavern yard?”
“No.”
“When you got it, why didn’t you come and bring it to me?”
“Because it was my own money. You had no right to claim it,” said Robert firmly.
“He is right, John,” said Mrs. Trafton, who had listened uneasily to the conversation, but had not yet seen an opportunity to put in a word in Robert’s favor.
“Shut up, old woman!” said the fisherman roughly. “Well,” said he, turning to Robert, “I’ve heard what you’ve got to say and it don’t make a bit of difference. I must have the money.”
“I refuse to give it to you,” Robert said, pale but firm.
“Then,” said John Trafton with a curse, “I’ll take it.”
He snatched Robert’s pants from the chair on which they were lying and thrust his hand into one pocket after the other, but he found nothing.