"Then we'd better stop where we are; I don't want to be took to the station."
They listened for some moments, holding the door ajar.
"It ain't the police," said Stack, "but a row about some bet. Latch had better be careful."
The cause of the uproar was a tall young English workman, whose beard was pale gold, and whose teeth were white. He wore a rough handkerchief tied round his handsome throat. His eyes were glassy with drink, and his comrades strove to quieten him.
"Leave me alone," he exclaimed; "the bet was ten half-crowns to one. I won't stand being welshed."
William's face flushed up. "Welshed!" he said. "No one speaks in this bar of welshing." He would have sprung over the counter, but Esther held him back.
"I know what I'm talking about; you let me alone," said the young workman, and he struggled out of the hands of his friends. "The bet was ten half-crowns to one."
"Don't mind what he says, guv'nor."
"Don't mind what I says!" For a moment it seemed as if the friends were about to come to blows, but the young man's perceptions suddenly clouded, and he said, "In this blo-ody bar last Monday… horse backed in Tattersall's at twelve to one taken and offered."
"He don't know what he's talking about; but no one must accuse me of welshing in this 'ere bar."