“Nell, my good girl,” said Mr. Skeggs, insinuatingly, “just see whether there isn’t such a thing as a drop of whiskey somewhere about the house. I’ve an awful pain in my chest.”
“There’s no whiskey—not a drop—but I know where there’s half a bottle of gin. Give me five shillings and I’ll fetch it.”
“Five shillings for half a bottle of gin! Why, Nell, what a greedy young pig you must be!”
“Don’t have it then. Nobody axed you. I can drink it myself.”
“I’ll give you three shillings for it. Come now.”
“Not a meg less than five will I take,” said Nell, emphatically, as she cracked another nut.
“Why, you young viper, have you no conscience at all?” he cried savagely. Then seeing that Nell took no further notice of him, he turned to Kester. “I find that I have no loose silver about me,” he said. “Oblige me with the loan of a couple of half-crowns till we get to Sedgeley.” Whenever Mr. Skeggs made a new acquaintance he always requested the loan of a couple of half-crowns before parting from him. But the half-crowns were never paid back until asked for, and asked for more than once.
A few premonitory flakes of snow were darkening the air as Kester St. George and Mr. Skeggs started on their way back across Burley Moor, the latter with a thick comforter round his neck and the bottle of gin stowed carefully away in the tail pocket of his coat. The cold seemed more intense than ever, but the wind had fallen altogether.
“We are going to have a rough night,” said Skeggs as he stepped sturdily out. “We must contrive to get across the moor before the snow comes down very thick, or we shall stand a good chance of losing our way. Only the winter before last a pedlar and his wife were lost in the snow within a mile of here, and their bodies not found for a fortnight. This sudden change will play the devil with the young crops.”
Kester did not answer. Far different matters occupied his thoughts. In silence they walked on for a little while.