The day was breaking as he finished his task. The clean, sweet air and the exercise had given him an appetite to which the smell of cooking bacon and hot coffee that proceeded from the house had set a sharper edge. He took his coat from a bush and put it on. Mrs. Waters appeared at the door.
“You had better come in and have some breakfast before you go,” she said, brusquely; “there's no more sleep for me now.”
Mr. Travers obeyed with alacrity, and after a satisfying wash in the scullery came into the big kitchen with his face shining and took a seat at the table. The cloth was neatly laid, and Mrs. Waters, fresh and cool, with a smile upon her pleasant face, sat behind the tray. She looked at her guest curiously, Mr. Travers's spirits being somewhat higher than the state of his wardrobe appeared to justify.
“Why don't you get some settled work?” she inquired, with gentle severity, as he imparted snatches of his history between bites.
“Easier said than done,” said Mr. Travers, serenely. “But don't you run away with the idea that I'm a beggar, because I'm not. I pay my way, such as it is. And, by-the-bye, I s'pose I haven't earned that two pounds Benn gave me?”
His face lengthened, and he felt uneasily in his pocket.
“I'll give them to him when I'm tired of the joke,” said the widow, holding out her hand and watching him closely.
Mr. Travers passed the coins over to her. “Soft hand you've got,” he said, musingly. “I don't wonder Benn was desperate. I dare say I should have done the same in his place.”
Mrs. Waters bit her lip and looked out at the window; Mr. Travers resumed his breakfast.
“There's only one job that I'm really fit for, now that I'm too old for the Army,” he said, confidentially, as, breakfast finished, he stood at the door ready to depart.