Nicky-Nan, then, plunging a hand into his left trouser-pocket in search of a florin which he believed to lie there amidst the costlier cargo, and confident that by its size and his sense of touch he could separate it from the gold, found that he must first remove his pocket-handkerchief.  As he drew it forth, alas! two golden sovereigns followed in its fold, fell, and jingled on the slate-paved floor.  Not all the fresh sawdust strewn there could deaden the merry sound of wealth.  The two coins ran trickling, the one to clash against a brass spittoon, the other to take hiding in a dark corner under the counter.  “You might,” said Mr Latter that evening, relating the occurrence to a circle of steady customers, “have knocked me down with a feather.  To see old Nicky, of all men, standin’ there before my very eyes an’ sheddin’ gold like a cornopean!”

What Mr Latter did at the moment, or as soon as he recovered his presence of mind, was to set down his bottle and dive under the counter; while Nicky-Nan chased the coin which had ricochetted off the spittoon and lodged against the wainscot.  Their physical infirmities made the pursuit painful for both, as the darkness in a small room overcrowded with furniture made it difficult.  Mr Latter emerged panting, in audible bodily distress.  His search had been longer than Nicky-Nan’s, but it was successful.  He straightened himself up and held out the coin to the light.

“A sovereign! . . .  I’ll have to go out an’ fetch change.  A sovereign, send I may never!” He rang it on the bar-counter.  “I’ll step along an’ get change from the Bank.”

“There’s no hurry,” stammered Nicky-Nan hastily and in confusion.  “Let’s have the drink, an’ maybe I can fish out something smaller. . . .  You keep your parlour very dark,” he added, repocketing both coins.

“I reckon now,” observed Mr Latter thoughtfully as he measured out the two tots of brandy, “that ‘taty-patch o’ your’n has been a perfect gold-mine this season.  Everyone tells me how agriculture is lookin’ up.”

Nicky-Nan sought refuge in a falsehood.

“‘Tis my rent,” said he, “that I’ve been savin’ up for Pamphlett.  Didn’ you see him stop an’ speak wi’ me five minutes since?  Well, that was to make an appointment an’ give me the receipt.  Between you an’ me, I’ve been gettin’ a bit to leeward with it lately.”

“Ay,” said Mr Latter, opening the soda-water and pouring it.  “Everybody in the parish knows that. . . .  Well, things are lookin’ up, seemingly, and I congratulate ’ee.  Here’s Success to Agriculture! . . .  Brandy for heroes!  ’Tis a curious thing, how this partic’lar drink goes straight to the heart an’ kindles it.  Champagne has the same effect, only more so.  A glass o’ champagne will keep kickin’ inside o’ ye for an hour maybe.  With brandy ’tis soon over and you want another go.  I’ve noticed that often.”

“You won’t have a chance to notice it today.”  Nicky-Nan drained his glass at a gulp, and searched again in his pockets. . . .