“There, there,” said his benefactor kindly. “Never mind about thanking me.”
Sam obeyed him easily, and departing in silence, went off raving to the nearest boot-shop to buy more laces. Taught by experience, he put some of his new stock in his pocket, and with a couple of pairs in his hand, entered the next tavern on his beat.
The bar was pretty full, but he pushed his way in, and offering his wares in a perfunctory fashion, looked round carefully for any signs of Captain Gething.
“Outside!” said a smart barmaid with a toss of her head as she caught sight of him.
“I’m goin’, miss,” said Sam, blushing with shame. Hitherto most barmaids had treated him with kindness, and in taverns where his powers were known, usually addressed him as “sir.”
“Down on your luck, mate?” said a voice as he turned to go.
“Starvin’, sir,” said Sam, who was never one to trouble about appearances.
“Sit down,” said his new friend, with a nod at the barmaid, who was still regarding the seaman in a hostile fashion.
Sam sat down and mentally blessed the reservation regarding free drinks as his benefactor turned to the bar and gave his order. His eyes beamed softly with a mixture of gratitude and amusement as his new friend came back with a pint of ale and half a loaf of bread.
“Get through that, old chap,” said the man as he handed him the bread; “and there’s some more where that came from.”