She laughed in her skinny throat. "I be old, but not so old as to forget the score. The gentlemen always pay."
She pushed Martin out and shut the door behind him, then, seizing Phil by the arm, she whispered, "Leave him."
Martin angrily thrust the door open again and she gave Phil a shove that sent him stumbling over the threshold. The door slammed shut and they heard the bolt slide.
"They pay," Martin muttered. "Yea, they pay in full and the old witch hath got rich thereby, for 'tis pay or hang. So much does she know of all that goes on at sea! In faith, I sorely mistrust she is a witch in all earnest; but even be it so, a most useful witch."
As the two came into the town they saw at a distance a crowd gathering. Dogs barked and boys shouted and men came running and laughing, which seemed to give promise of rare sport of one kind or another.
"See!" cried Phil, catching Martin by the arm. "Here's a game. Come, let us join the cry."
"Thou art a very pattern of blockishness," quoth Martin. "Would'st see us in pillory, egged, turnipped, nay, beaten at the post?"
"Come, old frog, I for one will run the hazard."
"Old frog, is it?" Martin's face flamed redder than before. "An we loiter there'll be sharp eyes upon us. My very throat is itching at the thought. Justice is swift. Who knows but we'll swing by sundown? Hast never considered the pains of hanging? The way they dance and twitch is enough to take the sap out of a man's legs."
Martin's fears were an old story and the lad heeded them so little, save when he would make game of them, that he never even smiled. "See!" he cried. "There's a man in their midst. Stay! Who is he? He is—yea, he is the very one, come back to Bideford despite his fears. And it seems the townsfolk know him well."