Robin started to walk quickly back in the direction from which he had just come. As night had now definitely fallen, he could only hope the pawnshop was still open. But it must be, for the streets were still teeming with people conducting business under the gaslights as if it were broad daylight.
When he arrived at the pawnshop, he saw through the window that the shop was still dimly lit inside. A man stood behind the counter reading a newspaper by the light of a small glass oil lamp. This was no doubt Nathaniel Slyke, proprietor, as noted on a small, worn sign attached to the window. For a few moments, Robin remained outside, afraid to go in. But through the dust in the window, Mr. Slyke in his shabby sweater looked dusty himself, bent and old and as harmless as one of the tarnished teaspoons left in trays in his shop to be sold. Robin timidly opened the door and entered.
Mr. Slyke’s head instantly jerked up. No longer softened by the dust on the window, his face appeared sallow, with the sharp, cunning look of a fox. As soon as his eyes fell on Robin, they narrowed.
“What is it you want?” he asked abruptly. “Don’t you touch anything in the trays, boy. If you want to look at something, just point it out, and I’ll show it to you.”
“I … I didn’t come to buy anything,” Robin said in a fading voice. “I have something to sell.”
“Sell?” Mr. Slyke shrugged. “Well then, let’s see what you have. Lay it on the counter.”
Fumbling in his pocket as Mr. Slyke stared at him in silence, Robin pulled out the watch and laid it down before him. Mr. Slyke picked it up and turned it in his hands, examining it closely.
“What did you want for it?” he asked indifferently.
Robin swallowed hard. “F-fifty cents, please.”
“Fifty cents?” Mr. Slyke’s eyebrows went up. “What did you think this watch was made of?”
“My papa said it was nickel … solid nickel,” Robin replied with pride.
“Well, your papa should not have been telling you such lies,” Mr. Slyke said. “This is nickel, all right, nickel plate. But I can give you twenty-five cents for it.”
“T-twenty-five cents?” Robin repeated the words with disbelief. “Is … is that all?”
Mr. Slyke set the watch back down on the counter and pushed it toward Robin. With his other hand he picked up his newspaper, indicating that he intended to give no more of his time to the transaction. “Solid nickel watches don’t go for much,” he said, “but you can get nickel plate in the catalogue for ninety-eight cents. Who’s going to buy a watch like this in a pawnshop for more than fifty? Twenty-five is all I can give you.”
Twenty-five cents! What good would twenty-five cents do when Robin had to return to The Whole Hog with fifty? And for twenty-five cents, why leave his treasured watch in the custody of Mr. Slyke, where someone else might purchase it and Robin would never see it again? Hesitantly, he picked up the watch from the counter.
“I … I might just keep it for now,” he said.
“You can take it down the street,” Mr. Slyke said. “But I can tell you, they won’t give you more than twenty cents. Still, do as you please.”
“Th-thank you,” said Robin.
Mr. Slyke’s eyes dropped down to the newspaper as if he had no wish to continue the conversation. But as Robin trailed across the shop to the front door, he could feel Mr. Slyke’s sharp eyes fastened on his back the whole way.
Robin started slowly off down the street, dragging his feet as if they had turned to lead. The pawnshop had been his only hope. Now what was he to do? He could still hear Hawker’s warning, “Don’t come back without the fifty cents.” Well, Robin still had no fifty cents. All he could do was go home and await Hawker’s arrival—and with it, no doubt, a new crop of welts and bruises. He would go home and—and—no! He would not sit there in fear and trembling awaiting the sound of Hawker’s heavy boots on the stairs. Not at all!
Once again, his footsteps quickened. Faster and faster all the way to the building where he lived. It was not to await Hawker, however. It was to get something. Something he had stupidly forgotten had been there all along!
Chapter III
A Sad Explanation
“What kept you, boy?” snarled Hawker. “You been gone a longtime.”
Robin had to swallow the lump in his throat, but he was prepared with his story. He had been rehearsing it all the way to The Whole Hog just in case Hawker actually noticed how long the mission had taken.
“It’s … it’s what I told you,” Robin said. “Mr. Kringle didn’t have the money. But … but he went to get it someplace, and I had to wait for him to come back.”
“So he had someplace to get it, did he? Why didn’t he go get it in the first place?” Hawker growled. “They always have a place they can go get it, if they’ve a mind to do it. Well, boy, I hope you’ve learned a big lesson about rent collectin’. So all right, hand it over.”
Fifty cents, it seemed, was not a large enough sum for Hawker to drag Robin to the cubby at the back for privacy.
