“By gum!” said George Chappie. “I’ll do it. They can’t hang me. But,” he added as he cast a last look at the household gods which Sam Bran-stone promised should be his, “they may hang you.” Sam grinned blandly. CHAPTER IV--THE COMPLEAT ANGLER |HE had succeeded with George beyond expectations, but that easy victory did not deceive him into thinking that his battle was won. Madge, he had said, would neither scream nor faint on hearing her banns announced and he wished he was as confident about it as he had sounded. Much, in his view too much, depended on the vigour of Sarah Pullen’s advice. He was taking risks all round, but found he rather liked it. There was the risk that the Hell-fire Club would not tire of its toy in time. An encouraging increase in absenteeism amongst the members elated him, but the steadfast faith of an enthusiastic pair depressed him sadly. He hoped, however, to find a way out of that wood. And there was the risk that some acquaintance of Anne’s would mention the banns to her. He saw no way to counter that. It was a risk he had to take. Fortunately, his father’s best friend, Terry O’Rourke, was a Catholic. As things stood, he saw Madge as the weakest link in his chain. She collapsed before the will of Anne like an opera hat, and he was candidly afraid of her making a scene in church, either from pleasure or from anger, when the banns were read. Not that he shrank on principle from scenes, only that word of it would undoubtedly be carried to Anne and the fat be in the fire. Rummaging one day that week at a second-hand bookstall in Withy Grove, without the slightest intention of buying, he was attracted by a title and recklessly planked his tuppence down. Intrigue, he felt, was punishing his finances, but this title gave him too good an opening with Madge to be the subject of economy. The title was “The Clandestine Marriage,” and he knew that Sarah Pullen would be in that night to see Madge. He was reading the play very earnestly when she called, though it rather bored him and he thought its plot elementary compared with his own. Sarah was no reader, but she noticed the cover because the word “marriage” was an unfailing lure. “Whatever has the boy got hold of now?” She inquired, taking his bait sweetly. He showed her. “Do you know what it means?” he asked. “I know what marriage means,” she said. “By hearsay,” he told the virgin pungently. “But I meant the middle word.” She eyed it closely. “You’re always bragging your knowledge. I’m not at the Grammar myself and Greek is Greek to me. Fat lot of good it’ud be in a weaving-shed, and all.” She had a practical mind. “This isn’t Greek,” he said, “it’s English.” “It’s not the sort of English we talk in Manchester, choose how.” “I’ll tell you what it means.” “Wait till you’re asked, cheeky.” He didn’t wait. “It means surreptitious.”