“Yes; I’ve taken it from this morning.”
Sam hurried out. Hash, pausing to write down the address, became aware that he was being spoken to.
“Say, pardon me,” said the fine-looking man who was clutching at his sleeve. “Might I have a word with you, brother?”
“Well?” said Hash suspiciously. The last time an American had addressed him as brother it had cost him eleven dollars and seventy-five cents.
“Did I understand your pal who’s gone out to say that he had rented a house named Mon Repos down in Valley Fields?”
“Yes, you did. What of it?”
The man did not reply. Consternation was writ upon his face, and he passed a hand feebly across his broad forehead. The silence was broken by the cold voice of the barmaid.
“That’ll be threepence I’ll kindly ask you for, for that glass,” said the barmaid. “And if,” she added with asperity, “you ’ad to pay for the shock you give me, it ’ud cost you a tenner.”
“Girlie,” replied the man sadly, watching Hash as he shambled through the doorway, “you aren’t the only one that’s had a shock.”