‘It was in a public-house as I sold it—a chap I know. There was another chap as I didn’t know standing just by—see? He kep’ looking at the medal, and he kep’ looking at me. When I went out the chap as I didn’t know followed behind me. I didn’t see him at first, but he come up with me just at the top of Rosoman Street—a red-haired chap, looked like a corster. “Hollo!” says he. “Hollo!” says I. “Got any more o’ them medals?” he says, in a quiet way like. “What do you want to know for?” I says—‘cos you see he was a bloke as I didn’t know nothing about, and there’s no good being over-free with your talk. He got me to walk on a bit with him, and kept talking. “You didn’t buy that nowhere,” he says, with a sort of wink. “What if I didn’t?” I says. “There’s no harm as I know.” Well, he kept on with his sort o’ winks, and then he says, “Got any _queer_ to put round?”’ At this point Jack lowered his voice to a whisper and looked timorously towards the door. ‘You know what he meant, Bob?’ Bob nodded and became reflective. ‘Well, I didn’t say nothing,’ pursued Bartley, ‘but the chap stuck to me. “A fair price for a fair article,” he says. “You’ll always find me there of a Thursday night, if you’ve got any business going. Give me a look round,” he says. “It ain’t in my line,” I says. So he gave a grin like, and kep’ on talking. “If you want a _four-half shiner_,” he says, “you know where to come. Reasonable with them as is reasonable. Thursday night,” he says, and then he slung his hook round the corner.’ ‘What’s a four-half shiner?’ inquired Bob, looking from under his eyebrows. ‘Well, I didn’t know myself, just then: but I’ve found out. It’s a public-house pewter—see?’ A flash of intelligence shot across Bob’s face. When Pennyloaf returned she found her husband with his box of moulds and medals on the table. He was turning over its contents, meditatively. On the table there also lay a half-crown and a florin, as though Bob had been examining these products of the Royal Mint with a view to improving the artistic quality of his amateur workmanship. He took up the coins quietly as his wife entered and put them in his pocket. ‘Mrs. Rendal’s been at me again, Bob,’ Pennyloaf said, as she set down her market-basket. ‘You’ll have to give her something to-day.’ He paid no attention, and Pennyloaf had a difficulty in bringing him to discuss the subject of the landlady’s demands. Ultimately, however, he admitted with discontent the advisability of letting Mrs. Rendal have something on account. Though it was Saturday night, he let hour after hour go by and showed no disposition to leave home; to Pennyloaf’s surprise, he sat almost without moving by the fire, absorbed in thought.