"'HANCOCK--TAILOR,'" reads out the officer aloud, stepping back into
the roadway and peering up at the shop-front. "Very well, my man,
you'll hear from us again--"
"I'm not askin' for any reward, Sir."
"So you've said: and I was about to say that, if this turns out to be
a trick, you'll hear from us again, and in a way you'll be sorry for.
And now, once more, take your ugly head inside. 'Tis my duty to act
on information, but I don't love informers."
For the moment the threat made the tailor uncomfortable: but he felt
pretty sure the sailors, when they discovered the trick, wouldn't be
able to do him much harm. The laugh of the whole town would be
against them: and on Regatta Night the press--unpopular enough at the
best of times--would gulp down the joke and make the best of it.
He went back to his bench; but on second thoughts not to his work.
'Twould be on the safe side, anyway, to be not at home for an hour or
two, in case the sailors came back to cry quits. Playing the lonely
martyr, too, wasn't much fun with this mischief working inside of him
and swelling his lungs like barm. He took a bite of bread and a sup
of cider, blew out the candle, let himself forth into the street
after a glance to make sure that all was clear, and headed for the
"Fish and Anchor.
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