“Weel, it were easy to see they were a’ on pins an’ needles to get shut o’ me. Nah when a land-lord wants to see th’ back o’ a customer wi’ brass to spend ther’s a reason for it. But there were nowt to be seen i’ th’ kitchen, an’ aw’d no mak’ o’ excuse for goin’ up th’ stairs. Aw said aw’d just tak’ a look raand th’ spot to stretch mi legs an’ tak’ a look at th’ pigs an’ th’ beasts. An’ then they were just as keen aw sud stick where aw were. Howsomedever aw did tak’ a stroll raand, an’ goin’ up to th’ mistal aw fun this trinkum. Oo’s theer, aw’m thinkin’, but th’ door were locked, an’ oo were other asleep or, what’s more like, oo’s gagged an’ bun!”
“And we’re sitting here!” I cried, starting to my feet.
It was a dark, cold night, or rather morning, but if it had been cold as the Arctic circle it would not have cooled the fever that raged in my blood. Poor Dobbin! I dro’ as one possessed, nor gave the poor beast rest till we drew near the cart road that ran from the high road down to the little inn, with its cluster of outbuildings, kept by old Bradbury. It was nigh two of the clock when I drew rein, yet even at that ghostly hour a light burned in the kitchen of the “Moorcock.”
“Turn th’ horse wi’ its yead to Greenfielt,” commanded Billy.
“Nah folly me, an’ tread prattily.”
We stole silently to the inn door. A window was by the side of the door, across which a red blind had been drawn. We could hear voices raised in violent altercation. I distinguished the thin, piping, piercing treble of old Bradbury:
“Aw’ll no ha’ it, aw’ll no ha ’it,” he cried again and again. “Yo’ mun tak’ th’ wench fro’ here. Aw’t lose mi licence an’ mi job, an’ all for nowt. Aw’ll no ha’ th’ ‘Moorcock’ turned into a brothel to please thee, Ephraim Sykes. Away wi’ th’ hussy, aw say.”
Then the gruffer tones of Tom Bradbury, hoarse and husky, but what he said I could not make out.
Then Ephraim’s—loud threatening; then the old man’s again.
“An aw’ll ha’ no feightin’ here. Dash yo’ Tom, sit thee dahn. Ta’ no notice on him. It’s th’ drink’s talking. Mind, mind, Tom, he’s getten th’ poker. God! the man’s mad!”