‘And me too,’ said the other, replenishing the glass as soon as it was drained of its contents.
The man thought of his hungry children, and his son’s danger. But they were nothing to the drunkard. He did drink; and his reason left him.
‘A wet night, Warden,’ whispered one of the men in his ear, as he at length turned to go away, after spending in liquor one-half of the money on which, perhaps, his daughter’s life depended.
‘The right sort of night for our friends in hiding, Master Warden,’ whispered the other.
‘Sit down here,’ said the one who had spoken first, drawing him into a corner. ‘We have been looking arter the young un. We came to tell him, it’s all right now, but we couldn’t find him ’cause we hadn’t got the precise direction. But that ain’t strange, for I don’t think he know’d it himself, when he come to London, did he?’
‘No, he didn’t,’ replied the father.
The two men exchanged glances.
‘There’s a vessel down at the docks, to sail at midnight, when it’s high water,’ resumed the first speaker, ‘and we’ll put him on board. His passage is taken in another name, and what’s better than that, it’s paid for. It’s lucky we met you.’
‘Very,’ said the second.
‘Capital luck,’ said the first, with a wink to his companion.