"I'M travellin' with her, that's all; and we're going to get married
in two years!"

Dave gave vent to another long, low whistle. He seemed to think
and make up his mind.

"Now, look here, Andy: we're old mates, ain't we?"

"Yes; I know that."

"And do you think I'd tell you a blanky lie, or crawl behind your back?
Do you? Spit it out!"

"N--no, I don't!"

"I've always stuck up for you, Andy, and -- why, I've fought for you
behind your back!"

"I know that, Dave."

"There's my hand on it!"

Andy took his friend's hand mechanically, but gripped it hard.

"Now, Andy, I'll tell you straight: It's Gorstruth about Lizzie Porter!"

They stood as they were for a full minute, hands clasped;
Andy with his jaw dropped and staring in a dazed sort of way at Dave.
He raised his disengaged hand helplessly to his thatch, gulped suspiciously,
and asked in a broken voice: