"Well, Steeve?" said one, to encourage him.
"How about Bob, to-day?" said another.
Before Stephen had spoken, it was clear to the apprehension of the whole room that he did not share the popular view of Robert. He declined to understand who was meant by "Bob." He played the questions off; and then shrugged, with, "Oh, let's have a quiet evening."
It ended in his saying, "About Bob Eccles? There, that's summed up pretty quick—he's mad."
"Mad!" shouted Warbeach.
"That's a lie," said Mrs. Boulby, from the doorway.
"Well, mum, I let a lady have her own opinion." Stephen nodded to her. "There ain't a doubt as t' what the doctors 'd bring him in I ain't speaking my ideas alone. It's written like the capital letters in a newspaper. Lunatic's the word! And I'll take a glass of something warm, Mrs. Boulby. We had a stiff run to-day."
"Where did ye kill, Steeve?" asked a dispirited voice.
"We didn't kill at all: he was one of those "longshore dog-foxes, and got away home on the cliff." Stephen thumped his knee. "It's my belief the smell o' sea gives 'em extra cunning."
"The beggar seems to have put ye out rether—eh, Steeve?"