"We shall have lots of money soon," said Tinker cheerily.
"Well, I hope so. It is no use my reading these wretched rags, unless
they put me in the way of a coup."
"We always do," said Tinker with conviction; and he strolled away,
pondering idly the question of riches.
From the end of the garden of the Refuge, Tinker scanned the country
round with dissatisfied eyes. None of the low hills was hollowed by a
pirates', or brigands', or even a smugglers' cave with its buried
hoard, no ruin tottered above a secret treasure-chamber. For himself
he did not mind; it was all one to him whether he hunted his prey in
the Champs Elysees or the long, straggling street of Farndon-Pryze.
There were men in both places; and, though the methods of enraging them
were different, they grew crimson to much the same fieriness. He
found, indeed, an angry Frenchman more entertaining than an angry
Englishman, but he was no epicure in sensations: only, he liked them
exciting. But he would fain have discovered treasure for the sake of
his father who, as he well knew, did not find in Farndon-Pryze the
entertainment which satisfied his simpler, boyish heart.
As he scanned the unsatisfactory landscape, he heard the sound of
hoofs, and looking round, saw James Alloway, a young farmer of the
neighbourhood, riding along the highway.
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