Salt I have
already--enough for a year. Other things I can get for three
months."
"But we have no money to pay for them."
"Bah!"
"You mean you will steal them," suggested Sebastian, not without a
ring of contempt in his mincing voice.
"A soldier never steals," answered Barlasch, carelessly announcing a
great truth.
Sebastian laughed. It was obvious that his mind, absorbed in great
thought, heeded small things not at all. His companion pushed his
fur cap to the back of his head, and ruffled his hair forward.
"That is not all," he said at length. He looked round the vast
room, which was almost deserted. The stout waitress was polishing
pewter mugs at the bar. "You say you have already had answers to
those letters. It is a great organization--your secret society--
whatever it is called. It delivers letters all over Prussia--eh?
and Poland perhaps--or farther still."
Sebastian shrugged one shoulder, and made no answer for some time.
"I have already told you," he said impatiently, at length, "to
forget the incident; you were paid."
By way of reply, the old soldier laboriously emptied his pockets,
searching the most remote of them for small copper coins. He
counted slowly and carefully until he had made up a thaler.
"But it is not my turn to be paid this time. It is I who pay."
He held out his hand with a pound weight of base metal in it, but
Sebastian refused the money with a sudden assumption of his cold and
scornful manner, oddly out of keeping with his humble surroundings.
Pages:
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250