“What has become of the man with the green shade over his eyes?”
“Oh, he’s hooked it,” returned the host. “Didn’t like the looks of you all—he’s a deal too particular for his money.”
“Has he gone away?”
“Yes he’s stepped it, and arter paying for his shake-down too—he’s a rum un.”
“Gone, eh!” exclaimed Joe, scratching his head and looking wonder-struck.
“Ah, surely; what’s the odds? We can do well enough without a varmint loike him. Let him go, and be hanged to him.”
Joe Doughty was perplexed—the man’s sudden departure troubled him. He sat silent and thoughtful for some time, and then he took himself to his bed in one of the upstairs rooms.
But the situation in which he found himself was so new and strange to him that it was a long time before gentle sleep closed his eyelids.
By early morn he arose, and sallying forth from the vagrants’ lodging-house, he at once hastened to the “Dun Cow,” and there awaited, in the breakfast room, the appearance of Mr. Wrench.