"When your old neck-tie was torn, did you know that one end of it went to the rag-shop, and the other fell into my hands?"
I said these bold words to him suddenly, and, as it seemed, without my own will taking any part in them.
He started, stared, changed color. He was too much amazed by my sudden speaking to find an answer for me. When he did open his lips, it was to say rather to himself than me: "You're not the girl."
"No," I said, with a strange choking at my heart, "I'm her friend."
By this time he had recovered his surprise, and he seemed to be aware that he had let out more than he ought.
"You may be anybody's friend you like," he said, brutally, "so long as you don't come jabbering nonsense here. I don't know you, and I don't understand your jokes."
He turned quickly away from me when he had said the last words. He had never once looked fairly at me since I first spoke to him.
Was it his hand that had struck the blow? I had only sixpence in my pocket, but I took it out and followed him. If it had been a five-pound note I should have done the same in the state I was in then.
"Would a pot of beer help you to understand me?" I said, and offered him the sixpence.
"A pot ain't no great things," he answered, taking the sixpence doubtfully.
"It may lead to something better," I said. His eyes began to twinkle, and he came close to me. Oh, how my legs trembled--how my head swam!
"This is all in a friendly way, is it?" he asked, in a whisper.
I nodded my head. At that moment I could not have spoken for worlds.
"Friendly, of course," he went on to himself, "or there would have been a policeman in it. She told you, I suppose, that I wasn't the man?"
I nodded my head again. It was all I could do to keep myself standing upright.
"I suppose it's a case of threatening to have him up, and make him settle it quietly for a pound or two? How much for me if you lay hold of him?"
"Half."
I began to be afraid that he would suspect something if I was still silent. The wretch's eyes twinkled again and he came yet closer.
"I drove him to the Red Lion, corner of Dodd Street and Rudgely Street. The house was shut up, but he was let in at the jug and bottle door, like a man who was known to the landlord. That's as much as I can tell you, and I'm certain I'm right. He was the last fare I took up at night. The next morning master gave me the sack--said I cribbed his corn and his fares. I wish I had."