THE same evening Hal Grame and Joe Pullen walked up the Ship lane together in silence. They had just returned from one of their fishing expeditions and Joe carried the catch in a dripping basket on his shoulder.
Hal strode along beside him, his hands in his pockets and his eyes fixed moodily on the ground.
No word of Anny had passed between them since the night a fortnight before, when Hal had stumbled into Joe’s cottage and told the story of his quarrel with her. Ever since, with natural delicacy, Joe had carefully avoided the subject, and had carried his mate off fishing as often as he could, thinking that this would take his mind off the girl.
Suddenly Hal stopped.
“How much had we from the sale of yesterday’s fishing?” he asked abruptly.
“Four groats,” replied Joe promptly.
“Wilt thou give me two, mate?”
Joe looked at his friend in surprise; Hal was not wont to want money, but he answered readily enough:
“Certes, lad, certes,” and setting his basket down he brought out the two coins almost reverently from his pocket and held them to Hal, who took them thoughtfully, weighed them in his hand, and then looked up at his mate questioningly.
“How much silk can I buy with these at Tiptree?” he asked slowly.