Haco burst into a loud laugh, flung the key-bugle from his grasp, and pulled on his nether garments.
“I confess that you’ve won it, lad, so now I’ll have another pipe.”
He proceeded to fill the German pipe, and stirred up the fire while the band made good its retreat. Gildart paid the clarionet the stipulated sum of twenty shillings outside the door, after which he returned and seated himself beside the mad skipper.
Haco’s laugh had changed into a good-humoured smile as he gazed into the fire and puffed volumes of smoke from his lips.
“It was a risky thing to do, lad,” he observed, as Gildart sat down; “it’s well for that feller wi’ the long trumpet that the brass was so thin and his head so hard, for my blood was up, bein’ taken by surprise, you see, an’ I didn’t measure my blows. Hows’ever, ‘it’s all well that ends well,’ as I once heard a play-actor say.”
“But it’s not ended yet,” said Gildart with decision.
“How so, lad?”
“You’ve got to pay up your bet.”
Haco’s brow became a little clouded. The bet had been taken more than half in joke, for he was not given to betting in earnest; but he was too proud to admit this on finding that Gildart took it in earnest.
“You’ll not want it for a short while, I daresay?” he asked.