It was not till October that Captain Polkington was able to change the five pound note. This was really Julia's fault, she went so seldom into the town; he had once or twice suggested her doing so when she said they wanted this or that, but she never took the hint, and the note was still in his pocket-book. At last, however, the opportunity came.

A keeper's wife with whom Julia had got acquainted had promised her a pair of lop-eared rabbits if she could come and fetch them. She was not very anxious to have them, but Mr. Gillat was; he said they would be very profitable. Julia doubted this; but, since he wanted them, she said they would have them, and accordingly, one morning, they started together with a basket for the rabbits. They started directly after breakfast for they had to go a long way across the heath and could not at the best be back before two o'clock. Captain Polkington watched them go, standing at the cottage door until their figures were small on the great expanse of heather. Then he went in and, sitting down, wrote a hasty note to Julia; it was to the effect that he had been obliged to go into town, but would be back by dark or soon after. It read as quite a casual communication, as if he were in the habit of going into town frequently and had much business to transact. The Captain was rather satisfied with it; he felt he was doing the straightforward thing in telling Julia, his whole proceedings were open and above board. When he came back he should tell her all about the money, how it had been raised and how spent. She should have had the spending of it herself if only she had gone to town when he suggested it; as it was, he must do it; it was absurd to wait any longer; the weather was already cold; he must go, and bring her some pleasant surprise when he came back.

Satisfied with these reflections and feeling already the glow of beneficence, he dressed himself and set out for Halgrave. He had to walk to the village and there take the carrier's cart which went into town twice a week; he reflected, while he waited for the vehicle, how fortunate it was that Julia and Johnny had chosen to go for the rabbits to-day, one of the days when the carrier went to town. There were a good many bundles going by the cart, and two other passengers who were inclined to be too familiar until somewhat haughtily shown their proper place. The Captain was a little annoyed by this; and annoyed, also, to find that the carrier was not in the habit of starting on the return journey till rather late, later than the note would lead Julia to expect her father. But as the carrier was not one to change his habits for anybody, that could not be helped and Captain Polkington made the best of it. Julia was not likely to be anxious about him, he was sure; and since he was going to tell her all about his doings, it might as well be late as early. By this time he had quite got rid of any qualms—if he ever had them—about the method of getting and the intention of spending the note. He had almost forgotten that it had not always been his, and was quite sure that he was doing the right thing—for others as well as himself—in the difficult circumstances which seemed to beset him more than the common run of men. Cheered by these thoughts he endured the discomforts of the journey with moderate patience; he almost felt that he was suffering them in a good cause, for the sake of Johnny and Julia.

The town was large and the centre of a large district, not at all like the retired gentility of Marbridge, very much bigger and busier. Captain Polkington, who had lived quietly so long, felt rather lost and bewildered at first in the bustling intricate streets; there were so many people, especially among the shops, they were always getting in his way. He only made one purchase before lunch; he would have plenty of time in the afternoon, he thought, and would be better able to decide what to buy when he had seen things and had a meal. The purchase made before lunch was at the wine merchants, it was whisky.

He lunched at the best hotel; that and the whisky made a rather bigger hole in the five pound note than one would have expected. Still, as he told himself the whisky really was a vital matter with winter coming on, a necessity, not a luxury, for all of them—Johnny would be better for a little—he used to like a glass in the old days; and Julia would certainly be the better for it, working as she did in the cold. It was a medicine for them all, not himself alone. The lunch was the only personal extravagance and really, seeing what he was doing for the others, there was no need for him to grudge that to himself.

So he lunched and then the trouble began. He was not clear quite how it happened; at least, owing to the confusion there always was in his mind between facts as they were, as he wished them to be, and as they appeared in retrospect—he was never able to explain it thoroughly. There were other men lunching at the same time; he still had the Polkington faculty for making friends and acquaintances; he still, too, had the appearance and manner of a gentleman, if of somewhat reduced circumstances. He apparently made acquaintances; exactly how many and what sort is not certain, the account was very confused here. There was a whisky and soda in it, two whiskies and sodas, or even three; a cigar, a game of billiards—perhaps there was more than one game, or some other game besides billiards. At all events there must have been something more, for the Captain afterwards declared he was ruined in less than an hour, fleeced, cheated of his little all! It is quite possible that he was nothing of the kind, and that the acquaintances were perfectly honest and honourable men. They would not know he could not afford to lose, a true Polkington always set out to hide the reality of his poverty. And he was not likely to win, he seldom did, no matter at what he played or with whom; he was constitutionally unlucky—or incapable, which is a truer name for the same thing—it had always been so, even as far back as the old times in India. That day he lost at something, that at least was clear; then there was more whisky and soda and more losses, and perhaps more whisky again; and so on until late in the afternoon, he found himself standing, miserable and bewildered, in the main street of the town. Some one had brought him there, a good-natured young fellow who thought, not that he had spent all he ought, but that he had drunk all he should.

"Not used to it, you know," he had said with good-humoured apology; "been rusticating out of the way so long. Better come out and get a breath of air, it'll pull you together."

And he persuaded him out, walked some way down the street with him and then, seeing that he seemed all right, left him and went to attend to his own business.

For a little the Captain stood where he was, the depression, begotten of whisky and his losses, growing upon him in the old overwhelming way. No one took any notice of him; passers by jostled against him, for the pavement was rather narrow, but no one paid any attention to him. The bustle bewildered his weak head, and the noise and movement of the traffic in the roadway irritated him unreasonably. A youth ran into him and he exploded angrily with sudden weak unrestrained fury. Thereat the boy laughed, and, when he shouted and stamped his foot, ran away saying something impudent. The Captain turned to run after him shaking his stick; but he was stiff and rheumatic and weak on his legs, too, just now. It was no use to try and run. Of course it was no use, nothing was any use now, he was a miserable failure, he could not even run after a boy; he must bear every one's taunts; he could almost have wept in self-pity. Then he became aware that several passers by were looking at him curiously, arrested by the noise he had made. Annoyed and ashamed he turned his back on them and pretended to be examining the goods in a shop window near.

It was a large draper's, rather a cheap one; the better shops were higher up the street. In this one the things were all priced and labelled plainly; the Captain at first did not notice this one way or the other; he simply looked in to cover his confusion. But after a little he became aware of what he looked at, and it recalled to his mind the fact that he was going to buy something for Julia. He did not quite know what, he had had large ideas at one time; they had had to be diminished once because five pounds will not do as much as twenty; they had to be diminished again because he had been fleeced of so much of the five pounds. A wave of anger shook him as he thought of that, but he suppressed it; he felt that he must not give way, so he looked steadily at the window. There were furs displayed there, muffs and collarettes of skunk and other animals, even the humble rabbit artistically treated to meet the insatiable female appetite for sable at all prices. The Captain decided on the best collarette displayed and turned towards the shop door feeling a little better in the glow of benevolence that returned to him as he thought of how much he was going to spend for Julia. Just as he was going in he caught sight of a girl selling violets in the street. She was a good-looking impudent girl, and catching his eye she pressed her wares on him glibly; he hesitated, smiled—here was one who treated him as a man, who considered it worth while. He looked defiantly at the passers by—he was a man, not an object for curiosity or kindly contempt. He returned the girl's glance with an ogle and, stepping as jauntily as he could to the edge of the pavement, took a bunch of flowers with some suitable pleasantry. Half-way through his remark he stopped dead; he had felt in his pocket for a penny and found nothing. Quickly, feverishly, almost desperately, he felt in the other pocket; there were three coins there; by the size he could tell that one at least was a penny; he took it out and gave it to the girl; he had not the courage to put down the flowers and go without them. Then he turned away. A narrow passage ran down between the draper's and the next house; fewer people went that way and in the window there, common and less expensive goods were displayed. The Captain went down the foot-way and examined the two remaining coins. They were a shilling and a penny.

People passed and repassed along the main road; carts and carriages rumbled over the uneven stones; no one heeded the shabby hopeless figure by the side window. They were lighting up in the draper's though outside there was still daylight; the gas jets were considered to make the place look more attractive. They shone warmly on the furs and silk scarves in the front window, making them look rich and luxurious. Two girls stopped to look in; then, their means being more suitable to the goods there, they came to examine the side window. They were two servants out for the afternoon; they wore winter coats open over summer dresses and hats that might be called autumnal, seeing that they were an ingenious blending of the best that was left from the headgear of both seasons.

"I shall get one of them woolly neck things, I shall," one said; "they're quite as nice as fur and not so dear."

The other could not agree. "Don't care about them myself," she said; "I must say I like a bit of sable."

"Can't get it under two and eleven," her companion rejoined; "and those things are only a shilling three. Look at that pink one there; it looks quite as good as feathers any day. I'm not so gone on sable myself; you can't have it pink, and pink's my colour."

They moved on to another window; they, no more than the passers by, noticed the old man who stood just at their elbow. When they had gone he looked drearily in where they had looked. There were the woolly things they had spoken of, short woven strips of loopy wool, to be tied about the neck by the two-inch ribbons that dangled from the ends. "Ostrich wool boas in all colours, price, one shilling and three farthings," they were ticketed. He read the ticket mechanically. He still held his two coins; he held them mechanically; had he thought about it he would scarcely have troubled to do so, they were so cruelly, so mockingly inadequate. He read the ticket again; it obtruded itself upon him as trivial things do at unexpected times. But now its meaning began to be impressed upon his brain—"one shilling and three farthings"—that, then, was the interpretation of the servant girl's "shilling three." He had a shilling and a penny—a shilling and three farthings. He could buy one of those ostrich wool boas—he would buy it—that pink one for Julia.

The Halgrave carrier made it a rule to receive his passengers' fares at the beginning of the expedition; if they were coming back as well as going with him they paid for the double journey at the outset in the morning. Captain Polkington had so paid, and it was that fact, coupled with the early arrival at the stables of his one purchase, which induced the carrier to wait nearly half-an-hour for him. The cart was packed, everything was ready, and the good man and the only other passenger he was taking back were growing impatient, when the Captain, carrying a small crushed paper parcel, appeared. He had lost his way to the stables and had wandered hopelessly in his efforts to find it. The carrier was rather short-tempered about it, and the other passenger said something to the effect that "They didn't oughter let him out alone!" The Captain payed no attention but climbed into the back of the cart and sat down near his whisky. The other passenger got up beside the driver, and in a few minutes they were lumbering down the crooked streets. Soon they were out of the town and jogging quietly along the quiet lanes; the driver leaned forward to get a light from his passenger's pipe; his face for a moment showed ruddy in the glow of the one lamp, then it sunk into gloom again. Captain Polkington did not notice; he did not notice the voices in intermittent talk, or the fume of their tobacco that hung on the moist air and mingled with the scent of the drooping violets in his coat. He knew nothing and was aware of nothing except that he was the most miserable, the most unfortunate of men. Throughout the whole interminable journey he dwelt on that one thing as he sat by his whisky in the dark, clutching tightly the soft paper parcel and finding his only fragment of comfort in it. He had after all bought something; poor, disappointed, fleeced as he was, he had spent his last money in buying a present for his daughter.