Half-a-crown was much to Mary Yeo, and a jest was more; but—
“Yeu’m afraid,” said McTurk, at the psychological moment.
“Aie!” Beetle echoed, knowing her weak point. “There’s not a maid to Northam ’ud think twice. An’ yeou such a fine maid, tu!”
McTurk planted one foot firmly against the inner door lest Mother Yeo should return inopportunely, for Mary’s face was set. It was then that Tulke found his way blocked by a tall daughter of Devon—that county of easy kisses, the pleasantest under the sun. He dodged aside politely. She reflected a moment, and laid a vast hand upon his shoulder.
“Where be ’ee gwaine tu, my dearr?” said she.
Over the handkerchief he had crammed into his mouth Stalky could see the boy turn scarlet.
“Gie I a kiss! Don’t they larn ’ee manners to College?”
Tulke gasped and wheeled. Solemnly and conscientiously Mary kissed him twice, and the luckless prefect fled.
She stepped into the shop, her eyes full of simple wonder. “Kissed ’un?” said Stalky, handing over the money.
“Iss, fai! But, oh, my little body, he’m no Colleger. ’Zeemed tu-minded to cry, like.”