“’E’s gettin’ too cheeky by ’alf,” said another.
“Well, ’e shan’t come into my bar no more,” declared the landlord decisively, turning back into the room. “Many’s the time I’ve ’ad a mind to say so afore, when ’is pore mother used to come a-loiterin’ and waitin’ out there in the cold to try and fetch ’im ’ome. Mighty little ’e ever cared for ’er, nor anythin’ as she might ha’ said. But so long as ’e be’aved I ’adn’t the right to turn ’im out. ’E’s done for ’isself to-night though, and ’e don’t come in no more.”
“Good riddance too,” said one of the girls, settling her hair that had been loosened in the scuffle; and the landlord closed the door and drew the curtain across it.
But the lad outside made no effort to re-enter. He did not seem to have heard what had passed within his earshot.
He stood stock-still as they had left him, slowly rubbing his head with a trembling hand.
“Rot,” said he at last, to himself, with a feeble attempt at a laugh. “Ghosts! There ain’t no sich things as ghosts!”
Then he took a few steps forward, slowly and unsteadily, for he was drunk; not, however, in the direction of the village, and of his rough and lonely lodging, but between the hedges of the narrow lane beyond, where the figure had flitted before him.
Perhaps he had made a mistake; down that lane to the left stood the cottage, deserted now, where he had spent all the years of his life, alone—ever since he could remember—with the mother whom he had neglected and ill-treated, whom they all told him that he had killed.
The words buzzed wearily through his aching brain.
“Mighty little ’e ever cared for ’er, nor anythin’ as she might ha’ said!”