pressed fierceness as
he pushed his way in, conscious of the ballast in his pocket.

(Wonderful--let it be said again--is the confidence that money
carries: subtle and potent the ways by which it asserts itself upon
the minds of men!)

--"Seein' as how," Mr Latter corrected himself, drawing back again
and giving such room in the passage as his waist allowed--"seein' as
how all true patriots should have a fellow-feelin' in times like the
present, an' stand shoulder to shoulder, so to speak, not refusin' a
drink when offered in a friendly way. It gives a feelin' of
solidarity, as one might say. That's the word--solidarity.
Still, if you insist," he paused, following Nicky-Nan into the little
bar-parlour, "I mustn't say no. The law don't allow me. A two of
beer, if I may suggest?"

"Brandy for me!" said Nicky-Nan recklessly. "And a soda."

"Brandy for heroes, as the sayin' is. Which, if Three Star, is
sixpence, an' two is a shilling, and a split soda makes one-an'-four.
'Tis a grand beverage, but terrible costly." Mr Latter took down the
bottle from its shelf and uncorked it, still with an incredulous eye
on Nicky-Nan. "What with the War breakin' out an' takin' away the
visitors, an' money certain (as they tell me) to be scarce all over
the land, I didn' reckon to sell another glass between this an'
Christmas; when in walks you, large as my lord, and calls for a
brace! . . . Sure ye mean it?"

"I never insisted 'pon _your_ choosin' brandy," said Nicky-Nan,
beginning to fumble in his left trouser-pocket. "You can make it
beer if you wish, but _I_ said 'brandy.' If you have no--"
He ended on a sharp outcry, as of physical pain.

For a dire accident had happened. The men of Polpier (as this
narrative may or may not have mentioned)--that is to say, all who are
connected with the fishery--in obedience to a customary law,
unwritten but stringent, clothe the upper part of their persons in
blue guernsey smocks. These being pocketless, all personal cargo has
to be stowed somewhere below the belt. (In Mrs Pengelly's shop you
may purchase trousers that have as many as four pockets. They cost
anything from eleven-and-sixpence to fifteen shillings, and you ask
Mrs Pengelly for them under the categorical name of "non-plush
unmentionables"--"non-plush" being short for _Non Plus Ultra_.)

Nicky-Nan, then, plunging a hand into his left trouser-pocket in
search of a florin which he believed to lie there amidst the cos