'He was a born fool,' said the woman. 'Had he applied to me and not to you, I'd have took him on, sure as I'm alive. He's a fine, upstanding, good-looking lad. We could well do with such as he.'
Crestfallen, Jack made his way into Seaton. He knew that the farmer was right. His hands were not horny for labour, and although he was willing to learn, he might spoil a great deal in the process of learning.
He directed his course to the Red Lion, and went into the bar, where Mrs. Warne was sitting alone, looking into the fire, and dreaming of commercials.
At a sign from the hostess he seated himself near her.
'Shall I draw you a half-pint?' she asked.
'Thank you, yes,' said he, 'but I have not come here for bitter beer. I have bitters enough without adding to them. The fact is, my few shillings are nearly run out.'
'Into Dench's purse?'
Jack did not answer this. Turning his hat about nervously, he said, 'I want you to find me some occupation, Mrs. Warne. You are a dear good creature, as every one knows.'
The landlady looked at him with a friendly eye, and pursed up her lips. She had been knitting a stocking—a large one—possibly for her own leg, possibly as a Christmas present to a traveller high in her good graces. She scratched her nose with the knitting-pin.
Presently her face brightened.