Hal walked on in deep thought, kicking the stones in the road with his clogs.
Anny was fond of pretty fripperies and ornaments; she liked to be admired and looked at, and would have kept the sail-cloth bundle for its own worth, without a thought for the giver.
Hal kicked at a stone savagely, and swore loudly. He was eighteen and as bitter against the world as it is possible to be at that age. He remembered Anny’s little white face in the moonlight as Big French drove off, Sue’s request in his ears, and her disappointed, sorrowful glance at him before she returned to the kitchen. He had reached the sea by this time and he stood for a moment peering out over the mist-ridden water. “If only I had money,” he thought. “Lord!”
Staring out into the white moonlit vapour he saw Anny in her honey-coloured silk, her eyes bright and her lips a little parted, just as he had seen her that afternoon. Then he saw himself beside her, no longer a deputy landlord and everybody’s errand boy, but a man of importance in a new blue cloth coat with silver buttons and a ruffle in the sleeves. He was holding her hand and they were married.
“Oh! if only I had money!” the words escaped from his mouth like a groan, and he shivered involuntarily, almost afraid of his own voice; everything around him was so shadowy and unreal.
“Hal Grame, is that you? Oh! how you frightened me.” The voice seemed to start from the pebbles at his feet and he sprang back in alarm, crossing himself.
“Who’s there?” he said sharply.
“Only me and Win.” Red Farran got up from the bank of seaweed where he had been sitting and put a little wet hand into Hal’s.
“Why do you want money?” he said. “Win an’ me want money, too.”
Hal looked down at the fantastical little figure before he answered: