He leered uncertainly at Jenny, and said it was an uncommon brave afternoon and he hoped she was feeling pretty clever herself. Jenny at once embarked on the disappearance of the warts, and found that Trehern had just become aware of it. Wally had shown him his hands.

“Isn’t it amazing, Mr. Trehern?”

“Proper flabbergasting,” he agreed without enthusiasm.

“When did it happen exactly, do you know? Was it yesterday, after school? Or when? Was it — sudden? I mean his hands were in such a state, weren’t they? I’ve asked him, of course, and he says — he says it’s because of a lady. And something about washing his hands in the spring up there. I’m sorry to pester you like this, but I felt I just had to know.”

It was obvious that he thought she was making an unnecessary to-do about the whole affair, but he stared at her with a sort of covert intensity that was extremely disagreeable. A gust of wind snatched at her dress and she tried to pin it between her knees. Trehern’s mouth widened. Mrs. Trehern advanced uncertainly from the interior.

Jenny said quickly: “Well, never mind, anyway. It’s grand that they’re gone, isn’t it? I mustn’t keep you. Good evening.”

Mrs. Trehern made an ambiguous sound and extended her clenched hand. “See yurr,” she said. She opened her hand. A cascade of soft black shells dropped on the step. “Them’s our Wally’s,” she said. “In ’is bed.”

“All gone,” said Wally.

He had come up from the foreshore. When Jenny turned to him, he offered her a real shell. It was broken and discoloured, but it was pink. Jenny knelt down to take it. “Thank you very much,” she said. “That’s just what I wanted.”

It seemed awful to go away and leave him there. When she looked back he waved to her.

That evening in the Private Taproom at the Boy-and-Lobster, Wally Trehern’s warts were the principal topic of conversation.