“Nonsense, man. I have a latch-key.”
“Wish I’d ha’ knowed it,” muttered the man, as he tried to close the door; “blessed if I wouldn’t ha’ picked your pocket of it and risked it I’d ha’ carried you into the passage, and chanced it. Blister the door, how it sticks!” he growled, as he banged it to, the jerk raising the glass, and it dropped down. “Chrissal Square, sir?”
“No, no, Raybeck Square; and make haste out of the rain.”
“Oh, I’m as wet as I can be, sir, and it don’t matter now,” grumbled the man, as he ascended to the box, and once more the maddening rattle and jangle began.
Chester’s head was as blank as ever with regard to the past when the cab drew up at his home, but it was perfectly clear as to the present, and he was still hard at work trying to make out where he had been dining, with whom, and how it was possible for him to have so far forgotten himself as to have drunk till he was absolutely imbecile, when the man opened the door.
“One moment; my latch-key. Yes; all right, I said I’d give you a glass of brandy.”
“You did, sir, and welkum it’ll be as the flowers o’ May. Jump out quick, sir, and run up the steps, for it’s all one big shower bath.”
“Can you leave your horse?”
“Leave him, sir?” said the man, with a chuckle; “for a month. He’s got hoofs like hanchors. But I will hitch his nose-bag on, and let him see if he can find that there oat he was a-’untin’ for in the chaff last time he had it on.”
The next minute Chester was inside, with his head throbbing; but he was not so giddy, and his first glance was at the hall clock, illumined by the half turned down gas.