tram and shuffled to the door of that place of business.
He found Mr. Lipsky alone at the counter within.
Mr. Montague had not a moment to spare, and in that moment he had passed the word about the Green Overcoat.
Mr. Lipsky was incredulous. There was no one else in the little slop-shop. The elder man leant over the counter and whispered in his ear. And the word that he whispered was not an English word. The younger man took on a different colour. It was like cheese changing to chalk.
"Vah!" said the Pole. "Not keep it? Vy not? Keep it, sell it—that's business! Keep it as long as should be and sell it at best price. Not keep it? Thems superstition!"
Mr. Montague said no more. He had done his duty. Whatever the Pole might suffer—if—by chance—that Green Overcoat should come his way, his conscience was clear. The office which Crusaders owe to Poles was fulfilled. He had not despoiled his brethren.
He was off, was Mr. Montague, shuffling out of the little shop hurriedly across the tramway line of the Lydgate, and back by devious and narrow ways to his mean house.
