Charlie stared at the father in triumph. Jos Myatt pushed roughly past him in the narrow space behind the bar, and came into the parlour. Nodding to me curtly, he unlocked the bookcase and took two crown pieces from a leathern purse which lay next to the bag. Then he returned to the bar and banged the coins on the counter with fury. "Take thy brass!" he shouted angrily. "Take thy brass! But thou'rt a damned shark, Charlie, and if anybody 'ud give me a plug o' bacca for doing it, I'd bash thy face in." The other sniggered contentedly as he picked up his money. "A bet's a bet," said Charlie. He was clearly accustomed to an occasional violence of demeanour from Jos Myatt, and felt no fear. But he was wrong in feeling no fear. He had not allowed, in his estimate of the situation, for the exasperated condition of Jos Hyatt's nerves under the unique experiences of the night. Jos's face twisted into a hundred wrinkles and his hand seized Charlie by the arm whose hand held the coins. "Drop 'em!" he cried loudly, repenting his naïve honesty. "Drop 'em! Or I'll--" The stout woman, her apron all soiled, now came swiftly and scarce heard into the parlour, and stood at the door leading to the bar-room. "What's up, Susannah?" Jos demanded in a new voice. "Well may ye ask what's up!" said the woman. "Shouting and brangling there, ye sots!" "What's up?" Jos demanded again, loosing Charlie's arm. "Her's gone!" the woman feebly whimpered. "Like that!" with a vague movement of the hand indicating suddenness. Then she burst into wild sobs and rushed madly back whence she had come, and the sound of her sobs diminished as she ascended the stairs, and expired altogether in the distant shutting of a door. The men looked at each other. Charlie restored the crown-pieces to the counter and pushed them towards Jos. "Here!" he murmured faintly. Jos flung them savagely to the ground. Another pause followed. "As God is my witness," he exclaimed solemnly, his voice saturated with feeling, "as God is my witness," he repeated, "I'll ne'er touch a footba' again!" Little Charlie gazed up at him sadly, plaintively, for what seemed a long while. "It's good-bye to th' First League, then, for Knype!" he tragically muttered, at length. VIII