At any rate, I was resolved to be no party to Billy’s dishonesty. At any cost, since I had not the heart to deliver up the culprit to justice, I must see that the victim was repaid. He might never have noticed the theft; but whether or no, I should have no rest till his loss had been made good.
It was no time to mince matters. My own funds, as the reader knows, were in a bad state. I owed far more than I could save in half a year. But I had still my uncle’s half-sovereign in my pocket, which I had hitherto, despite all my difficulties, kept untouched. An emergency had now arisen, thought I, when surely I should be justified in using it. As long as I remained a party to Billy’s dishonesty I was, I felt, little better than a thief myself, and that I could not endure, however bad in other respects I might have been.
I went straight to Trotter’s shop. A jovial, red-faced woman stood at the door, just about to shut up for the night.
“I want to see Mr Trotter,” said I.
“Mrs Trotter, you mean, I suppose?” said the woman. “I’m the lady.”
“Can I speak to you for a minute?” I said.
“Yes—half an hour if you like. What is it?”
“It’s something private.”
“Bless us, are you going to offer to marry me, or what?” exclaimed she; “come, what is it?”
“Have you—that is, did you—the fact is, I don’t know whether you happen to have missed a pair of boots,” I said, falteringly.