"Very well," said Pratt. "You and Armstrong are the hefty men. You won’t want my help, so I’ll scull the dinghy up to the ferry, and start my investigations."
"My dear chap, speech was given us to conceal thought. There’s an art, some ancient said, in concealing art, and I bet I’d say more and tell less than any old Prime Minister that ever lived."
Leaving the dinghy in charge of the ferryman, he smiled a greeting to Rogers, the innkeeper, whose jolly face he caught sight of at the window, walked on to the village, and entered the general dealer’s shop.
"Fine morning," he said to the aproned youth in attendance. "D’you happen to have any tenpenny nails?"
"We’ve got some nails three a penny, sir."
"No good at all. You couldn’t hang a pirate on one of those, I’m sure. I suppose the tenpenny nail has gone out of fashion, but perhaps you have some tin-tacks. I dare say they’ll do as well."
"Ay, we’ve got some tin-tacks--two sorts, white and blue."
"No; I don’t know as ever I seed ’em red."
"Well, I particularly wanted red; they don’t show their blushes, you know. If you haven’t, you haven’t. I’ll try blue; they won’t look any bluer however hard you hit ’em." The assistant, staring at him like an amazed ox, handed him a box. "Yes," he went on, "now I look at them, I couldn’t wish for better. They’re a most admirable shade of blue, and exactly match my Sunday socks. I don’t suppose there’s much demand for ’em; my hosier assured me my socks were a very special line, so, of course, there couldn’t be many people wanting tacks of that colour. I dare say you haven’t sold a box of these since last season."
"Ah, but we have," said the simple youth, catching at something at last within his comprehension. "Only yesterday one of they furriners up at Red House bought three boxes."
"You don’t say so! What an appetite he must have! I suppose it was that big fellow who talks through his nose? He wears a red waistcoat, so I dare say he has blue socks."
"It warn’t him. He’s the groom. ’Twas the gardener chap."
"Of course. What was I thinking of? He wanted them to tack up his vines. They wouldn’t be any good for horse-shoes, and there’s no question of socks at all. You needn’t wrap it up, the box won’t catch cold in my pocket. Sixpence ha’penny? Dirt cheap. I think they’re worth quite a guinea a box, but you daren’t charge that, of course, or they would haul you up as profiteers. Thanks so much."