“Don’t overdo it. You can say it’s all because of love that I’m going to dress up and come and see her. Say that from what you know of me I’m as true as gold.”
“As true as five pound.”
“For Heaven’s sake,” urged Polsworthy, with some temper, “do try to avoid making a muddle. If the business goes wrong, I’ll dog your footsteps to the very last day of your life. If I get into trouble I shan’t be alone. Make no mistake about that. Where’s that slip of paper that you wrote down the particulars on?” It was produced, and the man from London, with a snatch, secured it. “Now,” he remarked, “now, I’ve got documentary evidence that you’re concerned in this game.”
“My mother won’t like me none the better for this,” said George, dismally. “But I’ll go up to the vicarage again, and give the young party your message.”
Polsworthy, in a uniform that had seen trouble, staggered into the station-yard at ten o’clock that night and was stopped at the gates by P.C. Saxby. The constable apologised for the act on seeing brass buttons, accepted the explanation that the other was an extra hand, and offered to give help with the sailor’s bag, but Polsworthy said that having managed so far alone, he would complete the job. In the dimly lighted booking-hall he set his load down with relief, and went to the porters’ room, where he changed into his own clothes. Ordered George to label the sack for London Bridge and, treating him as a stranger, gave him twopence for his service. The window of the office opened and he took his ticket from the stationmaster and strolled across the line in order to be out of the way should disaster arrive prematurely.
Nothing amiss happened, and when the train arrived, he climbed into an empty compartment on the off side, and ventured to glance out of the window to see George hurling a well-loaded sack into the front break van. They exchanged a congratulatory wave of the hand as the train went out, and George wished him, with great heartiness, good luck, and a pleasant journey.
Half an hour later George was ringing at the door of the vicarage, and playing with the watch-dog, who had followed him up the avenue, showing some inquisitiveness in regard to the load which George was carrying. Lights appeared; a head looked out of a window; in five minutes he was being received in the hall by the entire strength of the company in varied stages of deshabille. The restored articles of silver were taken out of the bag.
“A good deed,” announced the elderly vicar, addressing the audience, “deserves an appropriate and immediate reward. My dear, run upstairs for my pocket-book.”
“Thirkell,” said his wife, “run upstairs for your master’s pocket-book.”
“That’s right,” remarked the vicar, on the return of the lady’s-maid. “Two five-pound notes; here we are. George Hunt, I have much pleasure in presenting you with this acknowledgment of worthy services. My dear, give him some bread and cheese and beer, and say good-night and thank him.”