"
Bricknell's face fell somewhat.
"You gowk! You'll have twenty-five pound' o' mine in exchange: solid
money, an' my own earnin's. I've more 'n that in my pocket here."
"But I don't see why _you_ should want to give me money."
"An' you'm too mad to see if I explained. 'Tis a matter o' conscience,
an' you may take it at that. When the letter's wrote--best not sign
it, by the way, for fear of accidents--you give it to me an' I'll see
Geake gets it to-night. After that's written I'll pay your fare to
Liverpool, an' then you'll get a vessel easy. Now I see your mouth
openin' and makin' ready to argue--"
"I was goin' to say, Long Oliver, that you seem to be actin' very
noble, now: but 'twas a bit hard on _me_, your holdin' your tongue as
you did."
"So 'twas, so 'twas. I reckon some folks is by nature easy forgotten,
an' you'm one. If that's your character, I hope to gracious you'm
goin' to keep it up. An' twenty-five pound' is a heap o' money for
such a man as you."
"It is," the wanderer asserted. "Ay, I feel that."
At twenty minutes to five that evening, Long Oliver pulled up again by
the green garden-gate.
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