"Will you come down to the bar-parlor, then?"
"I shall be down in a few minutes."
"Jim Salter's inquirin' after ye."
"Who?" said Thomas, starting.
"Only Jim Salter, the man that brought you in last night, sir. I told him to wait till I came up."
"I shall be down in one minute," said Thomas, a hope of his money darting into his mind.
He had to pass through the bar to the little room at the back. Against the counter leaned Jim, smoking a short pipe, with his hand upon a pot of beer. When Thomas entered, he touched his cap to him, saying:
"Glad to see you lookin' middlin', guvnor. Is there anything I can do for you to-day?"
"Come into the room here," said Thomas, "and have something. I'm rather late, you see. I haven't had my breakfast yet."
Salter followed him with his pewter in his hand. Thomas disliked his appearance less than on the preceding evening. What was unpleasant in his face was chiefly owing to the small-pox. He was dirty and looked beery, but there seemed to be no harm in him. He sat down near the door which led to the ladder already mentioned, and put his pot on the window-sill. Thomas asked him if he would have a cup of coffee, but he preferred his beer and his pipe.