"Sold!" whispered Higgins to himself; and an ugly grin appeared upon
his face. "Now to send these notes up to the bank the first thing
to-morrow,--and--and--well, I have no love for Isaac Dent, and
Scarlett's the sort of feller as no one could dislike; but the times
is 'ard and the worst of us must live."
Here Higgins rang a little bell. When his attendant answered the summons
he told him that he was going out, but that if a sailor called Dent
looked in, he was to be asked to wait.
Meanwhile Will and Bet were hurrying as fast as they could to that
part of the town where St. Giles' Church was situated. The church was
a landmark, and it was easy to find it; and not very difficult, either,
to ascertain where Mr. Phillips, the hardworked curate, resided. Bet,
who could read well, had decided that they would apply to the curate,
not to the vicar.
"Mother knew a little about Mr. Phillips," she said; "and I see his
name on the notice-board. He'll be maybe more willing to listen, for
mother said he were poor, arter a fashion, himself.
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