"You don't tell me you've buried it?"
"No."
"It is time for drinks," said 'Bias with decision. They called at the Ship Inn, where they ascertained that Captain Hunken's chest and parrot-cage had been duly delivered.
"Very decent beer," pronounced 'Bias as they shared a quart.
"When a man has a job to tackle—" began Cai, and glanced at his friend. "You're sure we hadn' better wait till you've had a meal?—till to-morrow mornin' if you like."
'Bias drained his tankard and arose—a giant visibly refreshed.
"I'm a-goin' to see the house, instanter."
"Things," said Cai, "strike different parties from different points o' view. That's notorious. One man's born an' bred in a place, and another isn't. . . . Now if the latter—as we'll call him for argyment's sake—"
But 'Bias, cutting short this parley, had gained the door and was marching forth.
To be sure (and Captain Cai might with better command on his nerves have hailed the omen) Nature could hardly have dressed shore and harbour of Troy in weather more auspicious. The smoke of chimneys arose straight on the "cessile air," making a soft dun-coloured haze through which the light of the declining day was filtered in streams of yellow—pale lemon-yellow, golden-yellow, orange, orange-tawny. On the far shore of the harbour, windows blazed as if cottage after cottage held the core of a furnace intense and steady. The green hillside above them lay bathed in this aureate flush, which permeated too the whole of the southern sky, up to its faint blue zenith.
"Pretty weather," grunted 'Bias, "I see the glass is steady too; leastways if you can trust the one they keep in the Inn parlour."