"I guess not!" answered the other, lacing.

There was a little silence.

"I suppose," said the convict, with a curious eagerness, "that you
have seen a bit of the world?"

"Here and there," answered the other, searching for the return half
of his ticket.

"Should you think, now, that a girl would wait four years for a chap
who, in the eyes of the world, was not worth waiting for?"

The fisherman, not being an absolute fool, knew that there was only
one answer to give. But he was a kind-hearted man, so he told a
lie. There was something about this convict that made him do it.

"Yes; I should think she would. Girls are not always rational, I
guess."

The other said nothing. He took the mackintosh-coat and the creel
and the rod-case without a word--even of thanks. His manners were
brisker, as if the angler's lie had done him good. The change of
costume was now complete, and the convict would pass anywhere for an
innocent disciple of Isaac Walton.

For a moment they stood thus, looking at each other. Then the
convict spoke.

"Can you lend me a fiver?" he asked.